


This Is Why We Fight

by lashieldmaiden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU Ending I Guess, Alternate Ending, Battle of King's Landing AU, Brienne of Tarth is gonna save us all, Daenerys Targaryen is a BAMF, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gen, I don't really believe that Brienne is BUT WHAT IF SHE IS, I'm Just Doing My Own Thing At This Point, Idiots in Love, Jaime Lannister is a good man, Post The Last of the Starks, Sansa just wants you to get your shit together, Slow Burn, So Hey Wow Funny How Game of Thrones just ended at 8x04, Sorry D&D I'm Ending Your Show For You, The Bang That was Promised, The Couple That Slays Together Stays Together, This Got Out Of Hand Very Quickly, but he is a moron, post 8x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-27 08:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 41,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18735541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lashieldmaiden/pseuds/lashieldmaiden
Summary: “You’re sure.”Lady Sansa’s voice was quiet, and even. Whatever her inner thoughts were, she kept them well hidden beneath her pale eyes.“Not sure, no.” Ser Brienne of Tarth stood in front of her, ramrod straight.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The Battle for King's Landing looms before the forces of the North and of Essos. Brienne of Tarth has never been one to step back from a fight. Even if she's fighting for two.Epilogue: Tarth.(Begins from the end of 8x04. I've decided to write my own ending to the series. Because why the hell not.)(EDIT AFTER 8x05) After the bullshit we were just subjected to - I’m right, you’re wrong, shut up.





	1. Why We Lie Awake

**Author's Note:**

> HOW WE ALL DOING, FRIENDS?
> 
> Okay, first off - I don't actually believe this will happen in canon. But the idea entered in my head and refused to leave me alone, so...here you go.
> 
> Secondly - I have not and will not give up on this ship until the end credits roll. Jaime "I Don't Know How To Flirt Without Heavy Sarcasm" Lannister and Brienne "I'll Take My Own Clothes Off Thank You" of Tarth aren't done yet. I'd bet money on it.
> 
> Thirdly! Timeline wise. We know it takes a while to get to King's Landing from the North, so my bet is at least several weeks took place in between the start of last week's episode and the end of it. So in my head, Jaime and Brienne had some time together, enough time to make what needed to happen for this fic to make sense happen. Yeah, I'm dancing around with plotlines and timing, but you know what, if the showrunners can do it, I can, so screw it.
> 
> So. While we wait for next Sunday. Here. Have some angst. With a slightly hopeful twist.

“You’re sure.”

Lady Sansa’s voice was quiet, and even. Whatever her inner thoughts were, she kept them well hidden beneath her pale eyes.

“Not sure, no.” Ser Brienne of Tarth stood in front of her, ramrod straight. The long hours she had spent weeping the previous night - and for several nights before - did not show their strain on her face. She was as unbending as ever, her chin uplifted. “But my monthly courses have not come, and I did see the Maester.” There was the faintest hint of a flush on her cheeks. “He said it was...likely.”

“I see.” Sansa was quiet for a long moment. “I assume I need not ask who the father is.”

Brienne did not have the words to push past a suddenly constricted throat. She shook her head.

Sansa studied her. “What would you, then?”

Brienne blinked. “My lady?”

“You have come to me with this information. You have trusted me, knowing the past between the Starks and the Lannisters, and when even now Jaime Lannister rides south to rejoin his sister. You could have hid it with another lover - “ Brienne snorted slightly at the likelihood of that, but Sansa went on, “ - or run away, or gotten rid of the babe entirely. You did none of those things. You chose to trust me. So now, I ask you again.” Sansa leaned forward. “What would you?”

Brienne swallowed hard. “I am sworn to serve you, Lady Sansa. I merely wished to inform - “

“ _S_ _er_ Brienne,” Sansa rose to her feet and came out from behind the table, pacing towards Brienne. Her carriage was upright and her face stern but not cruel. Brienne was struck with how much she looked like Catelyn in that moment, how like Catelyn she had become. “You have been a loyal knight in my service. You have protected me and my family, stood by me when few others would. I owe you my life, as do many in Winterfell. You are my trusted council. And,” Sansa hesitated, then went on in a slightly warmer tone, “I have become rather fond of you.” She gave Brienne the smallest of smiles. “Even though I question your taste in men. So believe me when I say, I know you well enough to know when you are hiding something.”

Brienne was speechless. Sansa looked at her with keen eyes. “You want permission to follow him south.”

Silence. Brienne’s throat worked, but she could not find the words, undone by Sansa’s piercing gaze into her deepest wishes, ones she was not even sure she would have been able to give voice to today. So instead she hesitated, then nodded.

“To what end?” Sansa asked curiously, watching Brienne closely. “If he has betrayed us and returned to his sister’s side, he would not welcome your presence. If he has some other plan in mind…” She shrugged. “It seems he would prefer to keep you out of it.”

“I’m not going south for him,” Brienne managed, refinding her tongue.

“Why, then?”

“If I am…” Brienne’s hands fluttered briefly, helplessly in the air over her stomach. The enormity of the potential that lay within her was almost too much for her to articulate. _This was never supposed to be me._ She went on in a rush. “My lady, if they fail to take King’s Landing, Cersei will march her armies north and kill us all for our insurrection. I would not wait here for slaughter to come to us...both. I would make sure I had done all I could for my child’s future.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “You wish to go _fight?_ ”

A grim shadow stole over Brienne’s face. “Better to fight than wait for death to come to us. If Cersei knows I am with child, if she realizes how…” Her eyes narrowed. “I would not wish to say I had not done all I could to protect...” Her hands itched to stray to her stomach; she fought the desire desperately.

“So you’ll ride south to go to war again.” Sansa breathed, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. “With Jaime Lannister’s child in your womb.”

“I would ride south for _you_.” Brienne insisted. “For your family. For the North. They can use every good man they've got, and I can be of use at the front.” She hesitated. “And perhaps because..” She swallowed hard. “He should know, at least.” She finished lamely, her heart breaking at the uselessness of her words. She hated this softness in her, _hated_ that the armor she had placed so carefully around her heart for so long had been split in two. That all it had taken was Jaime Lannister teasing her in the firelight before his mouth claimed hers for those walls around her spirit to come crumbling down.

 _Fool, fool, tell the truth,_ she chided herself. Her heart had been so lost so long ago. She could not say when for certain - from the moment he had lost his hand in her service, to those baths at Harrenhal where he bared his soul and she saw for a first time the man behind the monster, to his leap in front of her to protect her from the bear, to his gift of armor and sword before he sent her freely on her quest...the moments stacked on endlessly, a never-ending wave that had swept her away. And then the wave had been pulled back to the sea and left her on shore alone, mourning its loss more deeply than she had ever thought she could grieve.

She loved him. To the very core of her being, with every particle of herself, she loved him. And she had almost been certain he loved her back.

And now to be carrying his child, an ever-present reminder of the joy she had known so briefly…

“Do you think your presence at King’s Landing would make so much difference?” Sansa asked quietly.

“My lady, I’m a knight.” Brienne said softly. “I’ve never run away from a battle before. This is no different. And who knows.” She shrugged. “It might. If nothing else, your brother will have another pair of hands on his side.”

Sansa’s mouth twisted ever so slightly. “Jon would no doubt be grateful for that,” she murmured. She studied Brienne for a long moment, her cool eyes assessing. “I would not release you from my service.”

“I would not ask it.”

A beat. Then Sansa nodded. “Very well.” She straightened and Brienne was once again struck by the steel the Lady of Winterfell had strapped to her spine in such a short time. “Ser Brienne of Tarth, I give you leave to travel south to King’s Landing and fight for our side. I also demand that when you survive this battle - which you _will_ do,” she added fiercely, her composure dropping to give Brienne a faint glare, “ - you will return to the North to rejoin me and take your position again as my commander.” She studied Brienne, then added gently. “I hope you’re successful in your quest, Ser.”

Brienne shook her head. “No quest, my lady. I merely wish to fight for what’s right.”

“No,” Sansa observed thoughtfully. Brienne stared at her. “You’re the most gallant person I’ve ever met. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do a single selfish thing in all our time together. But this is different. And it should be.” Sansa stepped forward and touched Brienne’s arm. “Go fight with honor, Brienne.”

“I shall, my lady,” Brienne whispered. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes.

Sansa raised her right hand. Brienne knelt and leaned her forehead over it. A single drop fell from Brienne’s sapphire eyes and landed on Sansa’s elegant white skin. Then Brienne was rising, no hint of any emotion in her face save the faint watery sheen in her eyes.

“I will return,” she promised.

Sansa nodded. “You’d better.”

* * *

_South._

Brienne’s horse was frisky after too many days in the stables without exercise. She hadn’t had the heart to run him loose about the castle since Jaime’s departure. Podrick was busy loading the remainder of their rations onto his own mount. He had not even blinked when Brienne had come and found him and informed him of their departure - merely nodded, set down his glass of ale, and headed to his quarters to begin packing.

 _He’s grown into such a man_ , Brienne thought, looking at her squire, her heart twisting.

She had not told Pod of her...condition. But she suspected he might have guessed. He had offered her a leg up on her steed for the first time since their earliest days together, and had quietly been putting hot drinks before her continuously the cold evening before. His eyes strayed to her worriedly at regular intervals, and - as irritating as it was - Brienne found herself thankful for her squire’s unending devotion to her.

_I hope I’m not taking us both to our deaths._

_Taking us all, I should say._

For a moment, Brienne gave into an impulse, and let her hands run swiftly just once down the front of her armor. She couldn’t feel it from the outside - the faintest rounding of her belly, the new softness in her breasts - but, deep inside, in her very core, she felt the spark, the faintest rhythm within her body, new and strange. She breathed deeply.

No. She would not wait for Cersei to come to the North for them. There would be no place in the world where she - where _they_ - could run to for safety, if Cersei won the day.

It had to be this. One more fight. One more battle. For everything.

With an abrupt tug of the reins, Brienne got her mount under control. She straightened in the saddle, spine upright, unbending. The armor Jaime had gifted her so long ago glimmered in the sunlight, and Oathkeeper swung at her side. She craned her head. “Are you ready, Pod?”

Podrick nodded, his usually cheerful face resolved. He leapt into his own saddle and came to her side. “Lead the way, Ser.”

Ser. Ser Brienne of Tarth.

Yes, that was who she was.

Who he had made her to be.

She was a Knight.

And she was going to go fight.


	2. Come The War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word had spread like wildfire through the Seven Kingdoms, of the battle that lay ahead, of tyrant and encroaching Queens. She had expected the battle to have already begun by the time she had arrived, weeks after her departure from Winterfell. But a stalemate seemed to have fallen between the two sides, neither willing to take the next step to launch an offense. Cersei seemed content to let Euron Greyjoy patrol the waters, volleying at the men of the North whenever they were careless near shore, but otherwise more on the defense than the attack. Jon Snow had arrived not long before Brienne had, his troops taking longer to travel than her and Podrick traveling relatively unburdened.
> 
> (Of Jaime Lannister’s passage, Brienne had heard nothing. Only that rumors had spread that a golden-haired man walked by Cersei’s side as she strode across her battlements.)
> 
> \---------------------------------------------------------------------  
> Brienne joins Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow at their camp outside of King's Landing to help them plan their final stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...The plot gremlins have had their way with me.
> 
> Same disclaimers as the previous chapter. This is nuts, I cannot stress enough that I DO NOT THINK this is actually canon, I'm literally writing an ending to the show that I know *I* would like, just because I Do Not Trust D&D to not fuck it up somehow. 
> 
> Timeline wise, a few weeks have passed since the previous chapter and Brienne's departure from Winterfell. 
> 
> Also I'm a Dany fangirl, and I hope that comes across here. I tried to do her well. (@RogueBelle, this attempt at character arc rescue is for you.)

_Come the war,_   
_Come the avarice._   
_Come the war,_   
_Come hell._

 

It was not, Brienne thought, the most comfortable tent she had ever been in.

The faces around the War Council table of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen were all grim and bleak. Men came and went from the makeshift shelter, the world outside was a bustle of military preparation, but inside the tent voices were oddly hushed. This was worse than before the Long Night, Brienne thought - much worse. The Long Night had been a dark outlook. A night none thought they’d survive. But the Long Night did not have such an undercurrent of raw despair lurking just beneath the stilted conversations being held around the table.

Brienne stole a look to the white-haired woman who stood in silence to her right, slightly back from the table where generals and soldiers alike muttered and pointed.

The face of Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Her Name, was an expressionless mask, shockingly lovely and blazing with ice. Only her eyes glittered, a grief and rage too great for words building in their amethyst depths. She said nothing while discussion went back and forth around her, merely stared at the map before her with those dreadful eyes. Brienne had seen what she thought perhaps no man in the room had noticed - in one hand, pocketed away, the young Queen held onto a tiny statue of a dragon, a dragon that had once held its place of honor on her battle plan, held it so tightly her fingers were white with the strain.

“Word has been sent to the Iron Islands,” Jon was saying quietly, studying the vast map of Westeros that lay sprawled before them on the table. “Yara Greyjoy has pledged herself to Queen Daenerys, she will answer the call, as will Dorne  - “

“They’re too far away to arrive at any sort of convenient time,” Varys said impatiently, waving one fat and oiled hand at the corner of the map. “It would take them weeks to arrive, and by then - “

“We can starve them out,” Jon urged, frowning at King’s Landing at the map’s center. “Cut off their food supplies - “

“One dragon is not enough to stop Euron Greyjoy from breaking through our defenses from the outside in, let alone with the Golden Company to keep us entertained should we march on the city directly.” Gendry - the newly appointed Lord of Storm’s End - interjected grimly.

“Would any more in Essos respond to your call, my Queen?” Tyrion asked Daenerys. His voice was gentle, apologetic - but silence followed the question like thunder following lightning. All eyes turned to Daenerys. She said nothing, merely drew her gaze up to lance her Hand with a piercing stare. After a moment, Tyrion coughed and looked away, his expression miserable.

Brienne had heard of Missandei’s death halfway through her journey south - Missandei, beautiful and wise, Daenerys's closest friend, who had always had a kind word for her. Missandei, brilliant and kind, murdered by the Mountain as Cersei Lannister looked on and smiled. 

Word had spread like wildfire through the Seven Kingdoms, of the battle that lay ahead, of tyrant and encroaching Queens. She had expected the battle to have already begun by the time she had arrived, weeks after her departure from Winterfell. But a stalemate seemed to have fallen between the two sides, neither willing to take the next step to launch an offense. Cersei seemed content to let Euron Greyjoy patrol the waters, volleying at the men of the North whenever they were careless near shore, but otherwise more on the defense than the attack. Jon Snow had arrived not long before Brienne had, his troops taking longer to travel than her and Podrick traveling relatively unburdened.

(Of Jaime Lannister’s passage, Brienne had heard nothing. Only that rumors had spread that a golden-haired man walked by Cersei’s side as she strode across her battlements.)

 _How did they keep Daenerys from launching a full immediate assault?_ Brienne wondered, gazing at the Dragon Queen. She knew of Daenerys’s love of both Missandei and Rhaegal. She could recognize grief in another when it beat so strongly in her heart too. And she had lost that noble knight of hers, Ser Jorah, so recently as well...It suddenly struck Brienne that the young Queen, despite her still many followers, was very alone in the world.

“We need to take the fleet,” Jon was saying in exasperation, rubbing his brow. “If we could knock out either one side or the other, without us being betwixt the two, we might stand a fighting chance.”

“I’ll take the fleet.”

Her voice, though quiet, cut through the low babble of the room. All eyes snapped to the speaker. Daenerys Targaryen stepped forward, coming to the table directly. Her eyes bore down on the tiny black ships that lay on the spread of the sea.

“How, your Grace?” Varys asked. There was a hint of exasperation in his voice that Brienne did not like.

Daenerys did not deign to glance at him. Her eyes were lingering on the map. “With Drogon.”

“That strategy did not play out so well before…” Tyrion said hesitantly.

“There is a storm brewing on the horizon.” From a dark corner, Grey Worm’s voice came, expressionless and icy cold. “It will be here soon. A chance for cover. A chance for natural defense.” The leader of the Unsullied had the same look on his face as his Queen, and Brienne knew his thoughts were not with the living.

“They will not expect us to attack by air again,” Daenerys said quietly. Her throat worked. “Not after…” Her voice trailed away, then her face hardened. “A sneak attack by night, when the storm is with us. They will not expect that. We will take them by surprise.” Her eyes were very bright and very cold. “And destroy them all.”

“It might work.” Brienne was speaking before she thought to stop herself, and had the uncomfortable sensation of all eyes suddenly drawing her way. She coughed, embarrassed. “If we launch an attack on the walls at the same time, to keep them distracted, make them think that that’s our main plan...”

“We’ll draw their attention landside, while Daenerys attacks from the sea.” Jon nodded. “It might be our best chance.”

“Why not make our land attack full scale as well?” Tyrion queried, taking a gulp from his wineskin. “The Unsullied and the North as one. Strike hard and fast, both sides at once. They won’t be expecting that either, I bet.”

“Make it our last stand?” Jon Snow considered a moment, then his face twisted with resolution. He looked at Daenerys, and Brienne thought she saw compassion in his eyes. “We could end the war once and for all. One way or another.”

“One way or another,” Daenerys echoed. She met Jon’s eyes, and Brienne could not read the emotion that surfaced in those lavender depths. “I will deal with the fleet. Then I will join you for the battle for King’s Landing.” Her mouth curled in a snarl. “And I will burn it to the ground.”

“And of the people of King’s Landing?” Varys leaned forward, trying to get his Queen’s attention. “You cannot destroy the very people you wish to rule, your Grace!”

“How do we know they’ve not all sided with Cersei?” Daenerys shot back. “They accepted her offer to hide behind her walls. Who knows what poison she’s dripped in their ears? What chance have we to turn their hearts when that - that _woman_ \- has been working against us for months now? No,” she shook her head. “I fear the people of King’s Landing are as much my enemy as she is.”

“That’s not true,” Varys said, something like desperation in his voice. “They are _misled_ only, you cannot punish them for ignorance!”

Daenerys raised her eyebrows at her counselor.

“My Queen,” Varys added hastily.

“He’s right,” Jon said quietly, stepping closer to the Dragon Queen. “We’re no better than she is, if we do.”

“How do you propose to take the city, then?” Daenerys demanded, glaring up at him. “We _tried_ diplomacy - “ Her glare at Tyrion was swift and vicious. “We tried, and look where it got us. Look where it got _Missandei._ ” The name hissed through the room, like a slap to the face.

“We cannot massacre -”

“ _They have massacred me_ .” And Daenerys’s eyes caught on fire, fierce and terrible. The men in the tent flinched. Brienne found herself overcome with awe. “I have bled and fought and _wept_ and _lost -_ more than any of you.” She stared around the room, brilliant and beautiful and ferocious. _The Dragon Queen_ , Brienne thought. “I am _done_ with hesitancy and I am done holding back. Today is for the thousands of _my people_ that I have left buried across these lands, who died in _my service,_ for _me._ Today, I think of _them_.”

“We must still give the people of King’s Landing an opportunity to retreat.” Tyrion said after a moment, flinching slightly as Daenerys’s furious eyes locked onto him. “An opportunity at least, my Queen. For those who would stand under your banners to make their way to you.”

“And how do you suggest we do such a thing?” Daenerys asked witheringly. “Have me fly above the city, baring _my child_ to Cersei’s arrows, shouting down my many titles?” She snorted.

“The tunnels!” Varys almost gasped.

Daenerys’s gaze snapped to him. “What tunnels?” She demanded.

“The tunnels below the city.” Varys mopped at his brow nervously with one sleeve. “We could use them to gain access to the people, get those out who will come…”

“They won’t listen to us,” Gendry pointed out, frowning. “None of us. We’re clearly from the North, we’re enemies, as far as they’re concerned. If we were to sneak in, we’d likely only get Cersei’s attention turned our way.”

Brienne felt her stomach turn to ice.

“We must try,” Varys urged. He hesitated, then with an expression of distaste, added, “I have a number of friends left in King’s Landing - perhaps I could get a message to them to meet me…”

“You’re too recognizable and too untrustworthy by far,” Tyrion said blunting, drinking deep again from his wineskin. “Might as well send me in there. You’d get the same result.”

Jon pursed his lips, eyes distant. “There must be someone among us who wouldn’t instantly draw suspicion - “

“I have Lannister armor.”

Silence fell as swift as a blade.

Again, all eyes in the tent turned to Brienne.

There was a lump in Brienne’s throat that threatened to choke her. She cleared her throat, then went on, her voice slightly higher than normal but without a tremor in it. “I mean, it's not a perfect disguise. It's different than the normal Lannister wear. But. It's not Northern or Unsullied armor. If I managed to get inside the walls...Cersei has no reason to believe I’m here, and maybe no one will think twice of another knight walking the streets.” She hesitated, then turned her gaze to Daenerys. “I can’t promise I can save everyone, but a few, perhaps. A few to remember the mercy of Queen Daenerys Stormborn.” She lowered her voice and spoke more familiarly than she ever had before to the young Queen. “We can at least try. If no one chooses to leave...” She trailed off.

The Dragon Queen’s stare was unnerving, those violet eyes blazing in her face. She studied Brienne expressionlessly and said nothing for a brief moment. Then she inclined her head in the smallest of nods. “Very well.” She turned away from Brienne. “You have until midnight.”

Brienne tensed. It was already well into late morning now, and she doubted that the tunnels of King’s Landing would be an easy or a quick journey. “Your Grace, perhaps some more time - “

“The storm comes tonight,” Daenerys did not turn around, but merely walked over to Grey Worm and stood facing him. Brienne could not see what was in Daenerys’s eyes, but Grey Worm’s face was filled with icy determination. “We strike when it does. Do what you can by then.” She paused, then said quietly. "Save as many as you can."

Without another word or glance backwards, Daenerys Targaryen swept aside the curtain of the tent and departed. The leader of the Unsullied followed her, a silent shadow.

There was a moment of quiet among those who remained.

“Ser Brienne.” Jon’s voice was low and kind. “You don’t have to do this.”

Brienne let out a faint, half-strangled laugh. “Who else can?”

“We could find another,” Jon urged, glancing around at his men. “Surely we can get up a quick disguise…” His voice trailed away as his men refused to meet his eyes.

Brienne shook her head. “I’m our best shot. I’ve at least been in the city before. And as I said…” She glanced down ruefully at the golden lion wrapped around the hilt of Oathkeeper. “I have the best chance of blending in.”

“I’ll alert what folk I have left in the city to spread the word of the chance of escape,” Varys interjected. “There will be some ready to leave. I’ll make sure they know to be on the lookout for you.”

“We’ll give you some men.” Tyrion set down his wineskin and looked at Brienne with a respect that touched her bone deep. “Men to help ferry the evacuees to safety.”

“The tunnels lead out to the ocean,” Varys said, pointing on the map to a small alcove between the sea and the city walls proper. “From where they let out, you should be able to convey people safely away to the hills. Pending no one notices you going,” he added speculatively.

“I can be discreet,” Brienne assured him quietly.

“I’ve no doubt.”

Again, silence fell for a brief moment.

“Well, then.” Brienne desperately tried to keep her voice light, and knew she was failing. “I had better be going.” She glanced to Tyrion. “Can you have a half dozen men to me in half an hour’s time?”

“In a quarter,” Tyrion promised.

“Have them meet me at the eastern edge of the camp.” Brienne’s gaze fell on Varys. “Will you accompany us to the mouth of the caves? So we don’t lose our way?”

Varys hesitated, then nodded.

“Good.” Brienne stepped back, her hand straying automatically to her sword. She ran her thumb over the golden lion on its hilt, as she had absently done so many times before. “Then I must bid you farewell, I suppose.” She looked to Jon and for a brief moment allowed him to see her heart. “Tell Lady Sansa - tell her I am sorry I may not be able to keep my oath to her.”

Jon Snow strode forward, his dark robes billowing behind him, and caught her by the shoulders. “I will do no such thing,” he said firmly, staring up into Brienne’s blue eyes with his own dark ones. “You get as many out as you can, but you survive this. That’s an order, Ser Brienne.”

Brienne let a brief, miserable smile flare across her lips. “Yes, my lord.” She bowed her head to him, nodded at the rest of the men around the table. Then, not trusting herself to speak again, she strode from the tent.

The sudden morning light was shocking. Brienne blinked, clearing her eyes a moment. Around her, men began to move more briskly, their actions spurred to purpose - swords cleaned and sharpened, glimmering in the bright air, shields hefted, armor donned.

“You’re mad.”

Brienne turned. Podrick Payne had followed her out of the tent, his face set in furious lines.

“Pod - ” Brienne began.

Podrick pointed a finger at her accusingly. “This is a death mission. The chances of you surviving going into King’s Landing - _behind enemy lines_ \- while they launch a full scale attack from outside?” He shook his head. “It’s suicide.”

“It’s a way in,” Brienne said quietly, somewhat startled by the vehemence of her squire. “We need to protect those people, Pod.”

Podrick took a deep breath. “And who will protect you - who will protect _him_ \- “ he gestured to her belly, “ - when you are behind Lannister walls?”

“Her,” Brienne said before she could stop her tongue.

Podrick stopped. “What?”

Brienne cleared her throat, abashed. Her squire had never, in all their weeks of travel to King’s Landing, addressed her condition so directly. It had caught her off guard.

“Her.” She met his eyes. “I don’t know why I think so, but. I think it’s a girl.”

Podrick’s face melted from fierce to tender in a heartbeat. “A baby girl,” he echoed, staring unabashedly at her abdomen.

Brienne felt her face flush. “Podrick, stop it. Everyone will see you.”

Podrick dragged his eyes from her lower half with some effort. “Brienne.” She doesn’t think he’s ever used just her name before. “Brienne, you have to think of - “

“If the North falls, if Jon and Daenerys fail, what chance do you think I and my child - the child of _Jaime Lannister_ \- stand against Cersei?” Brienne demanded heatedly, glaring at him.

Podrick glared back, his mouth working. She could see him struggling, his mind racing towards different alternatives, different solutions.

Her voice gentled. “Pod. I choose this. I was knighted - “

 _(Arise, Brienne of Tarth_ , a warm, rich voice prompted in the back of her mind.)

She breathed deeply, then continued. “I swore an oath to defend the innocent. The people of King’s Landing _are_ innocent. If I can help them…” She paused, and glanced down at Oathkeeper. The golden lion hilt seemed to be laughing at her. “If I can do anything,” she concluded, tearing her eyes away. “Then I have to try.”

Podrick did not speak for a long moment. Then his face turned determined. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“Podrick, no - they could use you at the battle - “

“I swore to be loyal to _you_ ,” Podrick shot back, glaring at her. “I won’t abandon you. Not now.”

“You were Jaime Lannister and Tyrion Lannister’s man for a long time,” Brienne rejoined. “You’re more likely to be recognized than I.”

“Then I’ll stay in the tunnels in case you need backup.” Podrick’s face was set in positively mutinous lines. “I won’t let you go in there alone.”

Brienne started to argue. But Podrick met her eyes, and the expression there…

 _He’s become a knight,_ she thought wonderingly all at once. Somehow, before her eyes, her squire had changed into a warrior, a warrior willing to fight and die alongside her. For her. Under her command.

Her eyes pricked painfully. She coughed and cleared her throat. “In the tunnels, the whole time,” she finally assented. “If I find you’ve left them to try and protect me on some foolish notion of chivalry, I swear by the Seven I’ll have you whipped when this is all over.”

Podrick nodded, his brow clearing. “Yes, Ser.”

The two of them stood for a moment, gazing at each other. Brienne felt the strange urge to embrace the younger man. She instead clapped him resoundingly on the shoulder. “Now go. I’ll be there to put on my armor in a moment. We ride out as soon as we’re able.”

Podrick nodded, and flashed her a faint, irrepressible grin before turning and making his way towards their tent.

Brienne breathed in. The air around her tasted hot, and tense. A wind had picked up, but it brought no cooling relief - only an acrid taste to her mouth.

( _It’s bloody hot in here._ )

(She tried to refuse to let her thoughts stray any further down the road where the memory of _his_ voice threatened to lead her.)

As she had when she left the North, Brienne allowed herself one moment of weakness, and let her hand stray to her belly. Under her tunic, not much had changed. But it was enough now. Enough to turn the Maester of Winterfell’s _likely_ into an indisputable fact.

_My child._

_Mine._

_Jaime’s and mine._

Brienne stared up at the sky. The sun was directly overhead, merciless and bright. She could hear the tramping of armored feet as soldiers wrestled into their gear, and - faintly - the distant, full-throated war of Drogon, the last of the dragons. The air smelled sharp and metallic - the scent of fear was on the wind, fear and resolve.

 _It ends tonight,_ Brienne thought to herself. _No matter what._

She caressed her stomach once more. The spark that was inside her seemed to flare for a moment, warm and sweet.

Ser Brienne of Tarth gritted her teeth, and began to stride to her tent.

_Tonight, we end this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum dum dum.
> 
> Let's see how far I can get with this before next Sunday, I guess. 
> 
> Chapter titles and title of fic from The Decembrists' "This Is Why We Fight."


	3. Come Attrition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime Lannister stood in the early evening streets and wanted to scream. His vision blurred almost to white, his pulse pounding in his ears as his heart resumed beating. His hand was clenching so hard he thought he might burst the seams on his glove. He fought the urge to let loose a peal of laughter as crazed as the Mad King might have given - wild, broken, insane - 
> 
> \- because he had gotten a glimpse of the figure that had stood in the alley entrance. Not much of one. But enough. 
> 
> Enough, because the Seven drag him through hell and blind him with thorns, he would have known that suit of armor anywhere.  
> \-------------------------------------------------------------------  
> Jaime finds an unexpected visitor in King's Landing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am very aware this isn't going to happen. I'm just irritated with how things are going. So I'm writing my own ending. Suck it, D&D. 
> 
> This is a Jaime x Brienne fic that happens to span the length of the Last War (i.e. the next episode), so I decided "fuck it let's write a war too". It all got all tangled up together. I don't know what I'm doing. Someone please send help.
> 
> Everyone's Favorite Idiot is showing up at long last, too. 
> 
> Hope folks enjoy.
> 
> (#bringbackDanyscharacterarc2019)

_Bride of quiet,_

_Bride of all unquiet things._

_Bride of quiet,_

_Bride of hell._

 

Jaime Lannister had never been more miserable in his life, and that was saying something.

He strode along the streets just above Flea Bottom, his pace purposeful but his eyes bruised and distracted. Those watching him from afar would have said he was a man on a mission. Those close enough to look into his eyes would have said he was a man in torment.

The sun was low on the horizon, golden rays slanting over white marble and filthy streets. Jaime looked up into it blindly, shielding his eyes, half-enjoying the pain that sparked in them from the glare of the pre-sunset.

King’s Landing was not doing well. They were not starving - not yet. Caravans of goods and supplies had still been able to make it past Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen’s blockade. But Cersei had invited actual thousands more into the city than it had ever been meant to support. The already crowded streets had swelled full to bursting with human traffic. And all of those mouths needed food, and many needed medicine, and many were beginning to complain of imprisonment and mutter of insurrection when the soldiers tramped by. They could last longer, but how long that “longer” would last was another matter entirely.

The Golden Company was another problem. Mercenaries did not tend to care much about the masters they served, as long as the gold had been paid. Jaime had been called upon to break up a dozen fights between its soldiers and the people of King’s Landing slums - bar brawls, skirmishes over petty theft, brutal exchanges where he had knocked men senseless for the sake of the chastity of tavern wenches and farmers’ daughters -

( _Why did you help me?_ )

(He tried very hard not to let that low voice echo in his mind.)

Let alone the fact that each man of the Company could eat more than a family of four combined. Another drain on money and resources, for soldiers who currently were doing nothing more stressful than patrolling the walls around the Landing.

And then, above all these grievances, there was her.

Cersei.

Jaime gritted his teeth.

Beautiful Cersei.

It had not been easy to come back. Cersei had not precisely welcomed him with open arms. He did not like to think of the long hours it had taken - the things she had made him do - of how he had debased himself, pleading with her, kneeling to her, sweating silently in the shadow of the Mountain who loomed ever-present now just behind her at all times. How she had finally - with a strange gleam in her eyes that he did not care to inspect too closely - allowed him to rise from his knees, let him brush his lips against the back of her hands in a strange parody of an oath of fealty. She had not let him touch her again since. She barely glanced his way, save with an expression of gloating savagery as she discussed what she would do to the men of the North. The men he had fought beside, the men he had been prepared to die with, the men who had stood by his side (as _she_ had) on the Long Night. She never spoke of their child, even though her stomach had begun to bulge and curve outward beneath her robes. Euron Greyjoy smirked at him while he followed her to her bed after their war meetings every evening, and Jaime couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn.

No, It had not been easy to come back.

And dealing with Cersei hadn’t even been the worst part.

( _Stay. Stay with me.)_

Jaime’s feet stuttered to a halt on the dirt path. He swore beneath his breath, his hand rising to cover his eyes.

 _(Please._ )

No. Not the worst part.

If he didn’t need to believe with every fiber of his being that Ser Brienne of Tarth was safe and breathing and _alive_ in the North - doing her duty, protecting the Stark girls - he would have sworn she was haunting him.

Not an hour passed but he heard her voice murmuring his name in his ear - his name, and more besides. Whispered words that had passed between them in the dark and cold of night, when all that was warm was each other. Gasps of passion. Broken cries and pleading. Not a spare moment but her face stole behind his eyes, those sapphire eyes glimmering with anguish, as they had the last time he’d seen her.

_(Please.)_

She had never asked him for anything for herself before, he thought. She had not asked him to save her life and her honor, to clad her in armor, to reforge Ned Stark’s sword for her hand, to ride to the North to defend it, to defend _her._ She had not asked him to her bed - he had pushed his way in, desperately and recklessly, toting a bottle of wine and a driving need to hear his name and _only_ his name fall from her lips. She may have made demands of his honor that had reawakened a long-dead part of himself - the part that actually wanted to _try_ to do what was right, for others, for her. But for herself...The one thing she had wanted of him for herself, the one thing she had _begged_ for…

She had not even asked him to love her. Only to save his own life.

And he could not even give her that. Because Cersei - beautiful, twisted Cersei - had her claws still sunk so far into him, he didn't know where to even begin to root her out. He couldn't even say he loved her anymore. But it was Cersei, and he was Jaime, and so he had made his choice and ridden away while Brienne's tears fell frozen down her face, her sobs echoing in the silent, cold night. (He would never forget that sound, as long as he lived. The sound of Brienne's pain.)

( _She’s hateful. And so am I._ )

 _Why am I here?_ Jaime wondered, lowering his hand from his eyes and staring at the city about him. Once, he would have said he was home. Once, King’s Landing had been the heart of his world, his kingdom in its own way. Now the streets felt strange and unfamiliar, the faces in the windows of the high buildings shuttered and alien.

Jaime was not a man given to introspection. But as the sun waned low in the sky, he stood on the streets of what he might have once called _his_ city, his brow furrowed, his thoughts turned inwards.

_Why am I here?_

Cersei’s leash was still on him. He could practically feel his collar choking him. But she had not called him back to her side this time, had not pulled on that chain. He had come of his own accord.

_But why?_

A year or two ago, he would have been sure. He would have known his purpose - to stand by Cersei’s side, to fight for their family, to fight for his people. Now he wandered the streets rather than trying to be anywhere near her, his family was torn into shreds, and his people were not only the ones who walked between the walls of King’s Landing. He had seen the men of the North face down Death itself, had admired their grim and somehow mirthful courage. He had seen the Dothraki roar and the Unsullied rejoice and the Wildlings drink. He knew better how far the borders of their land stretched, how many people actually lived alongside him in this realm.

He knew how many of them stood outside the walls at this very moment, prepared to batter themselves to death against Cersei’s iron will.

_Why am I here?_

_Because_ , a voice in his head whispered. _You have a role to play._

Jaime shook his head, trying to think through a haze of distraction, a haze that had pressed in on him since he had heard of Rhaegal’s fall, of Missandei’s capture, weeks ago in Winterfell. _Something_ was driving him - something was clenching in his gut, a persistent and gnawing _need_. But even if it could have saved the life of every woman and child in the realm, he couldn’t have put a name to what that need was. He felt disoriented at all times, his thoughts muddled, a whirl of faces - Cersei, Qyburn, Euron, Tyrion, Daenerys, Jon, Sansa, Bran. Brienne. He couldn’t seem to focus, his mind vaulting back and forth, torn between the two sides he had fought for, the two sides he had been willing to die for.

Something was coming. He knew that much. Something beyond war and Houses, something beyond Targaryens and Lannisters and Starks. But as to what it was - he had no more way of knowing that than of knowing the name of every star in the sky.

He sighed, suddenly weary beyond words. _I need a drink_ , he thought to himself. He turned, scanning the street, looking for the nearest, filthiest tavern. Maybe a few pints of ale would help make tonight’s war meeting more palatable -

He froze.

He was fairly sure his heart had stopped.

Across the way, in between a dusty baker’s and a blacksmith’s, a family of five was wandering into an alley. The smallest child was clutched in the mother’s arms, swaddled up in linen. A girl - no more than five, likely - clutched at her mother’s hand, glancing around with wide, fearful eyes. A boy, almost a young man, was staring around the streets suspiciously. His father was talking in a low voice to a shadowed figure within the alley’s entrance. After a moment, the man nodded an affirmation, then turned to his family and spoke a few words before turning back and inclining his head in a short bow to the figure. Then the family vanished down the alley out of sight and were gone. The figure, too, seemed to melt away into the lengthening shadows of the dying afternoon.

Jaime Lannister stood in the early evening streets and wanted to scream. His vision blurred almost to white, his pulse pounding in his ears as his heart resumed beating. His hand was clenching so hard he thought he might burst the seams on his glove. He fought the urge to let loose a peal of laughter as crazed as the Mad King might have given - wild, broken, insane -

\- because he had gotten a glimpse of the figure that had stood in the alley entrance. Not much of one. But enough.

Enough, because the Seven drag him through hell and blind him with thorns, he would have known that suit of armor _anywhere_.

Ser Brienne of Tarth was not safely ensconced in a Northern keep.

Ser Brienne of Tarth was in King’s Landing.

_Brienne was here._

 

* * *

“A quarter hour’s walk will bring you to the sea.” Brienne’s voice was low and soothing as she looked down into the fearful eyes of the young woman before her. “There are men there who will be expecting you - they will do you no harm. No one shall. You’ll be escorted safely into the hills.”

The young woman - Johene, she had called herself - absently clutched the bundle in her arms to her chest. Her hand reached out and grasped blindly at her companion, another young woman - Penny, Brienne recalled. “How do we know you’re not leading us into an ambush?”

“Why would I?” Brienne asked simply, meeting the girl’s eyes squarely. “What can we gain by murdering the women and children of King’s Landing?”

“Who knows why a Targaryen does anything?” Penny muttered, her gray eyes suspicious in her dark face.

“Daenerys Targaryen is not a monster,” Brienne said gently, turning her gaze to the truculent young woman. “But battle is coming between her and Queen Cersei. Soon. We want as many innocents out of the way as possible.”

Johene laughed shakily. “I have to say, I’ve no desire to be anywhere near _their_ fight.” She glanced around the dank alley fearfully, fidgeting with the dark ribbon tied around her left wrist. Evening was approaching, the afternoon sun dimming on the pale walls of King’s Landing. “We thought we’d be safe here. Cersei swore she’d never let the Dragon Queen within these walls.”

Brienne bit her lip, hard. Had she more time, she would have sat these young women down, made them sit and listen to her as she told them the stories of Daenerys Targaryen, of the slaves she had freed and the loves she had lost, of the dragons she had ridden through the sky, a creature more of legend than of the mortal world.

But she did not have the time.

They had gotten more out than she had expected already. Varys’s friends still had a semblance of loyalty to him, it seemed. Families had been waiting for her when she had emerged from the tunnels into the lowest part of the city - she had been able to send a good three dozen with Podrick back up the cave towards the ocean almost immediately. She herself had taken to the city streets, looking for people with a single black string or ribbon tied around their wrists - the signal Varys had told her the willing would be wearing, to let her know she might approach them and bring them to safety.

It was a risky strategy. All it took was one person to decipher the clue, to understand what it meant - and she would be prey to the first ambitious mercenary who might think to tie a string around their hand and make Cersei a gift of an interloper’s head.

It was dangerous. But it was working. Almost two hundred had found their way to the tunnel’s mouth. She had met them and guided them into Podrick’s capable hands, sending them up the path to freedom, to a world away from the looming battle. She half wondered if perhaps news of the oncoming storm had somehow leaked. She had never felt a city so tense, not even before the Long Night at Winterfell, as if everyone in it was anticipating some dreadful blow. The very air was hushed and still, no breeze stirring through the streets. The vendors calling out their wares were muted, their voices strange and hollow in the oncoming twilight. Few children played on the streets. On the horizon, as Brienne looked, dark clouds were beginning to billow up - the beginnings of Daenerys’s foretold tempest.

Brienne dragged her attention back to the present. Johene was staring at her with some concern. She forced herself to smile as reassuringly as she could. “The safest place to be in war is far away from it. That’s all we’re trying to do. Get as many people as we can away from here.”

“I still don’t know why we should believe you,” Penny said, narrowing her eyes at Brienne, her lips pursed. “Or why we shouldn’t go to the Queen right now and let her know what you’re about.”

“You could do that.” Brienne’s gaze was mild. Her hand never thought of straying to her sword. She merely looked at Penny with her guileless sapphire eyes. “I would ask you not do so before I have a chance to get this last company out to freedom, though.”

Penny blinked at her, her brow furrowing.

“Oh, don’t be such a _cunt_ , Penny,” Johene burst out, glaring at her friend. She turned to Brienne and dipped her head. “My lady knight, I don’t know why, but I trust you. I do not think you are leading us to our death.” She hesitated, gnawing at her lip. “Would you, um - would you mind swearing to it, though?” She asked in a rush.

Brienne smiled at the young woman and dipped her head. She knelt, laying her hand on Oathkeeper, looking up at the two girls. “In the name of the Seven and all the stars above, I swear. You will be protected.”

Johene’s dark eyes glimmered with relief. She smiled tremulously at Brienne, her hand tight in Penny’s grasp. Penny, too, with a brief pause, nodded to Brienne.

“Straight down the alley, the left corner of the wall. It looks solid, but it’s not.” Brienne pointed behind them to where the passageway stretched into growing shadows. “Thirty paces straight in and you’ll be in the caves. My squire, Podrick,  will meet you. You can join the next group that’s leaving. You’ll be out of the city in an hour.”

“Thank you,” Johene whispered, her hand groping out a moment to reach for Brienne. Brienne raised her own and clasped Johene’s in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then, she released the girl.

“Go.”

Johene nodded. Without another word or glance backwards, the two women turned, stole away, and were gone.

Brienne let out a shaky sigh. Two more. Two more safe. She rose to her feet, stumbling slightly. Her eyes tracked the progression of the sun across the sky - she would bet it was an hour til sunset proper, then another handful of hours after that til midnight - she could likely get another few hundred out by then, if she was _very_ lucky -

She was spun and slammed into the wall of the alley before she could even think to scream. Her helmet bounced off the stones and she winced at the blossom of pain that rang in her ears. Her hands were quickly captured in a vise-like grip in front of her, and she found herself pinned against the passage.

Brienne of Tarth tilted her head up and looked down into Jaime Lannister’s eyes.

She had never seen him look so furious.

“What,” he ground out, his teeth clenched so hard she feared they might splinter within his mouth, “in the name of the Seven, are you _doing here.”_

“Let me go,” Brienne said, with a desperate attempt at calm. She could have broken his grip without too much struggle, but a scuffle would draw attention she couldn’t afford. Not that it _mattered_ , not that her time wasn’t up - she had been caught, caught by her former lover, caught by Jaime _fucking_ Lannister. She would have laughed if she didn’t think she would break down into sobs instead.

 _He looks dreadful_ , she thought brokenly, gazing at the man she loved. Jaime’s eyes were bloodshot and wild, his skin clean but too pale, the bones prominent in his face - he had lost weight, since she had seen him last. She wanted to run her fingers through his unkempt, golden hair, to ease whatever had caused those lines of worry to be carved along his eyes.

“I asked you a question,” he spat at her, not letting up on his hold for a moment.

“You did. Let me go.” Brienne gently tried to pry her hands away, but he only tightened his grasp - he somehow had her wedged in between his left hand and his golden one in such a way that the cold metal of his right limb was locking her wrists together.

“You _will_ answer me,” he snarled.

“I will not,” Brienne said quietly, halting her attempts at freedom to glance into his eyes.

Jaime breathed out in a hiss.

He was fairly sure he wanted to strangle her.

Stupid, stubborn, noble, idiotic _fool_ of a woman. She wasn’t supposed to be here - she was supposed to be _hundreds_ of miles away, safe in the North, safe away from what he was sure was incipient bloodshed, safe and serving Lady Sansa far away from _here_ . She was supposed to be _safe_ , that was his one comfort, that Ser Brienne of Tarth was going to outlast this final battle to end battles, this last war to end all wars. She was supposed to stay alive and forget his face and go back to Tarth and lead her people into a bright future, far away from all the terror and madness that was brewing in King’s Landing. She was _not supposed to be here._

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he accused her, knowing he wasn’t making sense but uncaring.

“I know.” Brienne was studying him with genuine concern in her brilliant blue eyes. He fought back an insane laugh.

“Why aren’t you in the North?” He asked desperately. “You’re sworn to Sansa - you’re not telling me the Lady of Winterfell has made her way this far south?”

“Lady Sansa allowed me to come fight for her brother.” Brienne’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “As you probably know, he could use every man available.”

“You are not _every man_ ,” Jaime growled.

Brienne’s face changed from concern to exasperation. “Are you really challenging my right to be here _now?_ After all we’ve - “

“Allowed - wait, did you _want_ to come?” Jaime demanded. “ _Allowed_ you - did you _ask_ Sansa for leave to come here?”

A pause. Then Brienne nodded.

“ _Why?”_ Jaime stared at her, fighting the urge to shake her senseless. He doubted he could have managed it, but he felt just enraged enough now to make the attempt.

Another pause. Something swam in Brienne’s cobalt eyes that he could not identify. Then she cleared her throat. “It was the right thing to do.”

He was going mad. That was the only explanation. Or perhaps he was in Hell, that would also make sense. Perhaps he had died the moment he had left Winterfell’s gates and had been dragged straight into torment, that would explain why he was standing here staring at his lover standing in the most dangerous place she could _possibly_ be in. That she had _asked_ to be in.

“Why are you here? In King's Landing?” He managed to make out, his voice hoarse.

Brienne looked away from him. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

He breathed out slowly. “I could _make_ you tell me.”

He felt rather than saw her wince, the way her hands tightened in a flinch as if he had struck her. “You could try.”

He was sickened by himself at once. She made no move to defend herself, did not knock him to the ground for the threat he had just offered her - which he rightfully deserved. Her stoic face had not turned back to his, but he could see despairing resolution in those blue eyes.

 _She thinks I’m going to kill her_ , he realized suddenly, a cold claw gripping his stomach. _She thinks I will bring her to Cersei._

Which...he should. He knew that. He had found an enemy intruder in their midst, a dangerous knight of the North and its Dragon Queen, who had been meeting with the civilians of King’s Landing for a purpose she refused to reveal. His duty to his Queen here was clear. Cersei would be glad of another prisoner to taunt Daenerys and Jon Snow with.

She would make an example of Brienne. He knew that, too. Cersei would use her most skilled torturers on the Maid of Tarth. It would not be brief. It would not be pretty. And even Brienne - his brave madwoman, the strongest woman he knew - even she would eventually break and tell all.

He released her hands. Brienne’s head whipped back around, her sapphire eyes clashing with his emerald ones in surprise. She rubbed at her wrists slightly, staring at him. On an impulse, he reached out and grasped at her helmet, pulling it from her head. Her full face was revealed, wide-eyed and pale. She looked like she did the moment before he had left her sobbing in Winterfell, white and shaken.

“You have to leave.” He said quietly. “Now.”

“I can’t.” Brienne shook her head. She hesitated a long moment, watching him with those brilliant eyes. Then her face twisted in resolve. “I’m getting people out of King’s Landing,” she admitted softly.

“Out?” Jaime said blankly.

“Any one who wants to flee to safety. Varys got the word out to the street folk. Any person who seeks safe passage out of the city is being granted it, on Queen Daenerys’s orders.”

“So she sent _you_ in to - “

“To get as many out as we could. Yes.”

“Why _you_?” He choked out. “Why not Varys himself, he knows the city well enough, why not _anyone_ else - “

A miserable blush rose on Brienne’s face. “My armor.” She explained quietly. “I’m less recognizable that the men of the North or the Unsullied because - “

“You’re wearing armor a Lannister had made for you.” Jaime knew for certain now he was in Hell.

“Yes.”

Silence fell between them. Jaime could not tear his eyes away from Brienne’s unhappy face. The weight of the irony was crushing him - the armor he had given her to save the Stark girls, the armor she had worn when they had fought the Dead side by side - now turned tool for sneaking into King’s Landing right under Lannister eyes. Around them, the shadows deepened into gloom. He could no longer see the sun above the rooftops.

“The guards can’t be too far,” Brienne said softly at last. He blinked at her uncomprehendingly. She cleared her throat and wished he would lessen her suffering, just once, just this last time. “I can’t promise I won’t fight them, but - “

“You should be fighting me,” Jaime pointed out, staring at her.

Brienne gasped out a despondent parody of a laugh. “Ser Jaime - “

“ _Damn the Ser_.” And suddenly his green eyes were ablaze. “Don’t you _dare_ call me ‘Ser Jaime', not now, not after what we’ve done together - “

“You _left!_ ” She cried out, her voice harsh with misery. “You left the North, you _left me_ , you don’t get to talk about ‘what we’ve done together’ - “

“Fight me,” Jaime demanded, his jaw tightening, his eyes brutal and hard. “Draw your sword, _Ser_ Brienne.”

Brienne only shook her head.

“Brienne of Tarth, you are a knight of the North and you _will_ draw your sword,” Jaime’s voice was crackling with tension, guttural and rough.

“I will not.” She whispered. She had not thought her heart could break any more. She had been wrong.

“ _Brienne_ \- “

“ _I_ _won’t hurt you!”_

Silence. Broken only by Brienne’s shuddering breaths that were not quite sobs.

“...you really won’t, will you.” Jaime’s face was wooden. His normally bright green eyes were almost black.

Brienne’s head fell forward, her short blonde hair falling in front of her face. She twisted her eyes shut, praying that the next thing she felt would be a knife to the ribs.  

An achingly familiar set of fingers slid under her chin and tilted her face up. Brienne tensed, waiting for a blow to fall.

When none readily came, she cracked open her eyes.

Jaime was staring at her, his eyes still dark and indecipherable but gleaming with some emotion she could not name. His handsome face, lined and worn, was set in grim lines. But his touch was gentle and he was still staring at her and no guard was appearing at the alley’s head and the day was falling into evening full proper now and still Jaime was staring at her.

“You really won’t hurt me,” he said, and Brienne wondered if she was going crazy because she knew Jaime Lannister, she knew the best parts of him, and she knew what tenderness in his voice sounded like.

Unsure of how to respond, she said nothing.

For a long moment, they merely stood gazing at each other.

Then Jaime’s hand was slipping away from her face and the shutters were being drawn down over whatever expression was blazing in his eyes. Brienne breathed for what felt like the first time in hours.

“How many have you saved so far?” Jaime asked quietly.

“...about two hundred, all told,” she replied, just as softly. "Please - they've done nothing wrong, they're only trying to save themselves - "

“How do people know how to find you?”

“I look for those with a black ribbon around their wrist.” Brienne could only surmise that he was arresting her himself, and her heart sunk in her chest. She tried hard to keep her voice from thickening with pain. “They’ve been told to come to just above Flea Bottom. I find them.”

Jaime hissed his disapproval. “That’s dangerous to you - someone could easily surprise you with a false marker, if word of this gets out - “

“ _If_ _?”_ The word burst out of her, high and shocked.

Jaime’s face said nothing. But he did not look away from her.

“Get them out, Brienne,” He said, after a moment. “As many as you can.” His gaze strayed to the walls around them, to the city beyond, and something like hatred was in his eyes. “No one should be in this cursed city one hour more, if they can help it.”

“It’s not safe for you here, either,” Brienne said desperately, her mind still reeling.

Jaime laughed and it sounded like a man dying. “There is no place safe for me in the world anymore, wench.” The old detested nickname dropped from his lips like a lover’s caress. “Twice-turned traitor? To King’s Landing first, and then the North and its Dragon Queen?” He smiled at her and there was grim and terrible mirth in it. “I’m the most hated man in Westeros again. If not the whole world.”

“I don’t hate you.” It was the only thing Brienne could bring herself to say. Her heart was in shreds.

“You don’t, do you?” Jaime shook his head. “I don’t understand why not - ”

“Yes, you do.” Brienne whispered.

For a heartbeat, she thought he might raise his hand to her face again, might cup her cheek and bring her close as he had that first night, their first together. Then his face spasmed with pain, and he stepped back and away from her.

“I take it from the urgency that there’s some need to have people out of the city by _tonight?”_ He inquired, his voice bland. “I’m assuming they wouldn’t have you behind your foe’s walls if there wasn’t some pressing matter at hand.”

Brienne did not respond. He looked at her sardonically, his lips twisting in an imitation of the smirk he had once so delighted in sending her way. “No need to say anything - even your face is terrible at lying.” He sighed as she looked away from him. “The final battle is upon us, then.”

Brienne still said nothing.

“Well.” Jaime’s throat worked. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to graze her lips with his, just for a final memory of the taste of her. “I’m glad at least I got to see you again.”

Brienne choked back a howl of misery. She turned her gaze back to him, desperate for one last look, for one last sight of the man she thought she knew, the man she would always love. He met her eyes, handsome as ever, his face closing off into a mask of reserved arrogance - his Kingslayer persona falling like cloak around him. Only his eyes glimmered softly at her, a sparkle of green, and there again was that sureness in her veins, beating in her blood - she knew what a tender glance from Jaime Lannister looked like.

“Goodbye, Brienne,” Jaime said quietly. Then he abruptly turned and strode from the alley.

 _Come with us_. The words almost broke free from her lips as she watched the love of her life walk away through the gathering dusk. He was straight of shoulder, his back unbent, but she felt as if she was seeing him get dragged through the city in chains. _Don’t stay here and die for her. Come with us._

No. She had begged him once before. She could not again.

She watched him vanish into the city streets.

_I may never see him again._

That was too enormous for her. She pushed it away resolutely, wiping at her eyes.

If there was a later for her, she could deal with that dreadful thought then.

For now, it was enough - it had to be enough - that Jaime Lannister had found her on the streets of his city, spoken her name like a caress, and let her go.

_When this is over -_

No. She stifled that thought as well, strangling it before it could flourish any further. Over was far away, and the night ahead of her was long. She couldn’t afford to think any more of Jaime, of how his eyes had gleamed as he’d looked at her, of how it had felt to have his hands touch her once more.

When it was over - she would think then.

Now, she had work to do.

Slowly, she picked up her helmet, her hands trembling only slightly. She slid the armor on over her head, anchoring it in place. Then she turned and began to trudge out of the alley, her eyes already darting from wrist to wrist on the passerby.

She could not, however, escape the one regret that beat most ferociously in her heart, twisting it mercilessly.

She hadn’t told him about their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apparently like hurting myself.
> 
> Next chapter: The war itself. Shit's about to pop off.
> 
> Kudos if you agree that Jaime Lannister Deserves Redemption And A Non-Toxic Relationship.


	4. Come The Reek Of Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All of Flea Bottom should be headed here - most are packing what they can carry as we speak. The scholars will be making their way here soon too, and I was told word had gotten around to the brothels - “
> 
> “Word?” Brienne thought the world was beginning to spin just a bit.
> 
> “To come find you.” He looked at her and his eyes shone. “That you would help us escape the battle this night.”
> 
> ___________________________________________________
> 
> Brienne of Tarth has a situation on her hands. Jaime Lannister needs his own personal crate of wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought the War itself was only going to be one chapter, but - as with so much of this fic - this chapter got away from me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Yes, I know this isn't what's going to happen, but if the showrunners can destroy Daenerys's entire character arc for the sake of the arc of "I Just Want To Go Home" Jon Snow and apparently Sansa gets news from King's Landing by being sub-tweeted, then I think I am allowed to play around in their sandbox. 
> 
> And without further ado...the shit. She be about to go down.

_Come the war,_

_Come the avarice._

_Come the war,_

_Come hell._

 

Night had fallen.

Brienne took a swig from her waterskin, breathing deeply. She was resting near the mouth of the tunnel, Podrick a few paces inside munching on a dry crust of bread she had brought for him. The most recent contingency of refugees had just vanished into the tunnel’s depths, led by one of the Unsullied who had volunteered to come with them to the tunnels and escort the residents of King’s Landing to safety. Above, the silvered moon had been hidden by tumultuous, thick-bellied storm clouds. The wind was picking up, a shrill whistle through the streets of King’s Landing. Far off, lightning crackled, followed a few seconds later by the dull rumble of thunder. Daenerys’s storm was imminent, and it was shaping up to be a monster of a squall.

 _Even the skies are at war tonight,_ Brienne thought.

Podrick finished chewing his bread and looked over to her. “How many more, do you think?”

“However many we can get.” Brienne rose to her feet, stretching. There was no time for a longer rest - it was time to return to their task. “How many so far?”

“Three hundred fifty, I’d say,” Pod smiled up at her, his round face still brightly cheerful, despite the peril they were both surrounded by. “Not a few, Ser.”

“Not enough.” Brienne closed her eyes, thought of the thousands more souls within the city’s walls. She picked her helmet up from the ground and made to put it on. “We should aim for at least a hundred more - it must be hours still to midnight, perhaps there are still a few wandering the streets looking for us - “

“Excuse me.”

Brienne turned, her hand immediately going to Oathkeeper. Behind her, she heard Podrick surge to his feet, coming to her flank.

A tall, round man stood in the shadows at the cave’s entrance, his gray face dimly visible in the flickering torchlight. He raised his hands as Brienne drew her sword. “Peace!” He said nervously. “Peace, I mean you no harm!”

“State your name and your business here,” Brienne demanded, her voice low and tense.

“Ben Wyne,” The man offered hastily. He stepped forward further into the light, revealing in the ill-lit passage behind him a cluster of other faces - men, women, children, all clad in rags. His own face was drawn and worried, his eyes latched onto Brienne. “Are you Ser Brienne of Tarth?”

“I am,” Brienne replied, her hand still taut on the hilt of her sword.

Ben Wyne licked his lips and looked at her appealingly. “We were told you could help us.”

“Help you - “

“Leave the city.” Ben scrambled at his sleeves, pulling them back to show her a black string wrapped around his wrist. There was a flurry of movement as the crowd behind him did the same. A dozen wrists were lifted in the flickering torchlight, black lines encircling each.

Brienne stared at him. “How did you know where to - “

“We were told the alleyway and managed to find the entry.” Ben pushed limp brown hair out of his eyes and looked at her pleadingly. “We were looking for you on the street - “

“I’m sorry,” Brienne stammered, flushing. “We had just sent the last group out, we were breathing a moment - “

“No, no!” Ben said hastily. “We’re just grateful to have found you. Now that we have, no doubt more will be able to as well - “

“More?” Brienne felt an uncertain thrill run through her.

Ben nodded. “All of Flea Bottom should be headed here - most are packing what they can carry as we speak. The scholars will be making their way here soon too, and I was told word had gotten around to the brothels  - “

“Word?” Brienne thought the world was beginning to spin just a bit.

“To come find you.” Ben looked at her and his eyes shone. “That you would help us escape the battle this night.”

Brienne swallowed hard. “How do you know there is a battle - “

“My lady - Ser Brienne - “ Ben corrected quickly, his eyes shadowed. “We may only be the poor folk of King’s Landing, but we’re no fools. If there is an evacuation underway, it can mean only one thing.” He looked back at the cluster of other folk in the shadows, his eyes lingering on a young woman with red hair and a swollen belly which she was clutching with both hands. Brienne felt her own stomach twist in response, the spark within her flaring brightly for a brief moment.

“We’re no fools, and we’re no cowards either,” Ben said quietly, turning back to face Brienne. “But we don’t wish to die for Queen Cersei’s bloody throne. She’s given us no reason to bend the knee to her, save for fear of her wildfire and her Mountain.” His expression hardened. “I was here the day she burned the Sept of Baelor. My sister was a cook in the kitchens.” He swallowed hard, grief momentarily twisting his face, before he looked at Brienne with pained eyes. “With such a ruler - we’d be willing to take a chance with the Queen of Dragons. And no matter what, we’d like to survive the night.”

Brienne tried to still her reeling thoughts. Despite the fear that clutched sourly at her guts, she did not think the night’s plan was ruined - the faces staring at her from the shadows, dirty and full of fear and fierce hope, had no look of Cersei’s groomed followers and court. Had word of the attempt to save the people of King’s Landing reached Cersei - had the news of the night’s battle plan leaked to the Queen on the Iron Throne - surely, she and Podrick would have both already lost their heads to the swords of the Golden Company.

She took a deep breath, sent a prayer fervently to whichever of the Seven was listening, and decided to trust.

“And survive it you will.”

A sigh of relief rose up from the crowd. Ben looked as if he might weep. He turned to the red-haired woman and caught up her hands, pressing his lips to them gently.

Brienne craned her neck to look at Podrick. “Craft an extra torch. Now.” She turned back to Ben. “How many more are coming?”

“At a guess?” Ben dropped the woman’s hands and shrugged uncertainly. “Many. It was all anybody was muttering about in the tavern when I left. At least dozens. Perhaps hundreds.” He hesitated. “Maybe even thousands, if word spreads far enough.”

 _Thousands._ Brienne’s head spun. How would they...how could they all fit? Thousands through this one tunnel, into darkness and the promise of protection. Thousands in the winding caves, their lives in _her_ hands.

Thousands who might yet survive the night. Who might not, without their help.

“Right.” Behind her, Podrick had finished wrapping a handful of straw around a small chunk of wood. Brienne took it from him and held it to the torch that flickered brightly on the wall. The dry strands quickly sparked and turned to flames. Brienne handed the fire back to Podrick, her face grim. “Podrick - when you get to the other end, bring back a few of our men from there. Have them make torches as well. Distribute them throughout the tunnel and light them up - people will need to be able to see their own way, we can’t plan on doing this in groups anymore.” She turned back to Ben Wyne and the crowd behind him. “You all - follow Podrick. He’ll lead you out. No rushing - if you get careless in the tunnels, it could spell doom for every other person _and_ yourself.” Ben nodded and shot a black look behind him, as if warning the others for crimes they had not yet committed. “It’s a quarter hour to the other end. Once you get there, my men will show you where to go.”

“Thank you, Ser Brienne,” Ben Wyne said softly. He was looking at her reverently, the former dread in his eyes easing away. “The hero of King’s Landing.”

“You’re not out of the city yet, thank me when we all live through this,” Brienne said gruffly. She held out her hand, and Ben eagerly reached out to grasp it with his own. “Go. Be safe.”

“We will.” Ben glanced back to the rabble behind him, reaching down to drag up a single worn satchel and throw it over over his shoulder. “You do the same, Ser.” There was a flurry of movement, then they were walking past her, all twenty or so of them all, all looking at her with the same reverential glow that had been on Ben’s face. She saw them head into the darkness, their faces lit for a brief moment before falling again into shadow, led by Podrick into the belly of the caves.

Ben was the last to stride past her as he brought up the rear, giving her a final nod full of gratitude. Brienne inclined her head in return, then released a quiet, grim chuckle. “I must confess,” she said, wondering out loud. “I had not expected Varys to be so incautious in making sure word spread.”

Ben Wyne turned back to her, his expression turning quizzical. “Varys?”

Brienne frowned at him. “He was the one who - he sent the word out." Ben was still looking at her in confusion. Brienne's heart beat a shade faster. "You didn’t hear about this from one of his men?”

Ben Wyne shook his head. “I have heard of the former Spider of the Red Keep, but I have never had dealings with him or any of his folk.”

Brienne felt a stab of alarm. Alarm and a wild, sudden surge of hope. “Then who - where did you hear - ?”

“Why,” Ben Wyne said, his eyes puzzled, “from Jaime Lannister.”

 

* * *

 

Jaime Lannister finished his cup of wine and reached for the pitcher on the table to refill it without skipping a beat.

He was a man currently actively committing treason. He felt it quite appropriate to not be sober for that fact.

It was madness, what he had done, he reflected passively, studying the crimson liquid in his goblet. Simple, utter insanity.

He had tried to be as cautious as possible. He had stayed away from any quarters where he knew the nobles were fond of gathering; too many of them were unswervingly loyal to Cersei, they would have betrayed him - and Brienne - without a second thought in their well-coiffed heads. But the slums, the scholars’ quarters, the Streets of Flour and Silk and Steel…

He had gone to them all. Stood before dozens of pairs of eyes who had looked at him with shocked horror and suspicion. Said little, merely that battle was imminent and they were being offered a chance to escape it.

Spoken of the Knight of Tarth who would help them do so.

It was a gambit, a dangerous, dangerous one. Had he trusted the wrong crowd - only one, that would be all it would take, only one to hear his words and understand the opportunity underneath, to run to Cersei’s side and whisper in her ear of her brother’s betrayal and of Daenerys Targaryen’s knight loose in her city…

But no messenger had come bursting in yet through the doors with news of insurgency, and the night grew later and later with no outward sign of any disturbance of the peace.

Jaime took another swallow of wine.

He prayed to whatever gods were listening he had not doomed Brienne with his scheme. Potential betrayal aside, soon a good mass of people would be headed to Flea Bottom, seeking asylum from the night ahead. He could only hope she would not be overwhelmed by the crush of refugees, that she would not be swamped and helpless in the wake of so many, frightened and urgent, grasping at a chance of survival - that she would not be swallowed up in panic and fear, crushed by a stampede of desperate runaways -  

No. He knew Brienne. As many as she could help, she would want to. She would find a way to navigate the crowds through the tunnels, no matter how many came to her. She would get them to freedom.

He was sure of it.

“You’re very quiet.” A silken voice purred.

Jaime tensed and took another, larger gulp of wine. “Not at all,” he returned, matching the ease in his sister’s voice with loftiness in his own. “Merely enjoying this rather fine Dornish you’ve laid out for us.”

Cersei Lannister smiled. Her perfect countenance, smooth and golden, almost shone beneath the soft candlelight. Her beryl eyes glittered in her face, as hard as jewels. “Wine usually never stills your tongue,” she observed softly, raising her own goblet to her lips. “Normally it makes you chattier than a virgin milkmaid.”

“Perhaps he’s just not appreciative of the company he’s in, your Grace.” Across the table, at Cersei’s side, Euron Greyjoy raised his tankard and smirked at Jaime. “Perhaps he finds us boring.”

“Are you _bored_ this evening, Ser Jaime?” Cersei asked him innocently, running the fingers of one hand around the rim of her goblet. The other strayed out across the table towards Euron, tracing unimaginable patterns in the dark wood.

“Not at all, my Queen.” Jaime’s fingers dug into his thighs below the tabletop, but his expression never faltered. “How could anyone be bored in your presence?”

Cersei’s smile was radiant and poisonous. Her wandering hand was plucked up by Euron’s meaty one, and Jaime watched as the pirate pressed an ardent kiss to his sister’s palm. They both grinned at him, smug and triumphant.

 _Why are they bothering to do this?_ Jaime wondered to himself, raising his cup again to his lips. Did they imagine he was _jealous_ to watch these displays of twisted affection, that his blood boiled to think of Euron in his sister’s bed? He knew Cersei was trying to find a place to dig a knife in, knew she thought she had found his soft spot with the pirate’s attentions. Instead all he felt as he observed Euron pawing at his sister’s body was a faint stirring of disgust.

This was the game he had to play now, he supposed.

Euron got up from the table with a grimace, stretching his considerable bulk and scratching at his stomach. “Many thanks for another fine evening of good drink and good company, your Grace,” he cooed, pressing another fawning kiss to Cersei’s hand. He lingered over her, his expression turning lecherous as he shot a glance in Jaime’s direction. “Perhaps you would indulge me in a last _private_ conversation before I prepare to depart to my ships - “

“My lord! Your grace!”

Jaime’s stomach clenched. A royal servant, his face pale and his eyes wide, was standing panting in the doorway, clutching at the frame, his gaze darting about wildly.

Euron straightened and Cersei rose in an instant, the self-satisfied gleam in her eyes vanishing in an instant to be replaced by queenly reserve. “Your news,” she said calmly, addressing the messenger.

The blood was turning to ice in his veins. Jaime studied the depths of his wine cup, struggling to maintain his composure. _Please - any god who might be listening - not Brienne, gods, not her, let them not have found her -_

“Yara Greyjoy’s ships have been spotted off the coast, your Grace,” the man stammered, his eyes darting round the table frantically. “A full fleet of them, headed our way at top speed!”

Jaime released his breath in a rush of air that no one took seemed to take note of.

“ _Yara.”_ Euron swore, reaching for his mug and tossing back the remnants of his ale. “My little niece has grown a pair of balls, it seems.”

“She has sworn herself to the Dragon Queen, has she not?” Cersei mused.

 _As if she didn’t know_ , Jaime thought bleakly, _as if she didn’t have every allegiance and alliance for her and against her locked away in that ingenious mind of hers._

“She has, my Queen.” Euron growled.

“How long til they arrive?” Cersei inquired of the messenger, her serenity never slipping.

“An hour, your Grace,” The servant bobbed his head. “At most, is what they say.”

“Then that’s my cue.” Euron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a fierce grin broadening his face and baring all his yellowing teeth. “Time for a reunion of the Greyjoys.” He turned to Cersei and framed her face with his hands, dropping a lascivious kiss on her open mouth.

“Destroy her,” Cersei murmured, raising one hand to trace Euron’s face. “Make her wish she’d never heard the name of Daenerys Targaryen.”

“It will be my pleasure, my Queen.” Euron passed his thick fingers covetously through Cersei’s flaxen hair. “I’ll bring you her head on a silver plate.” He turned and gave Jaime a final contemptuous smirk. “Try not to strain yourself buffing up your hand, my lord,” he said mockingly, shooting Jaime’s right limb a look of withering scorn. Then, swinging his oilcoat around his shoulders, he strode from the hall and was gone, the messenger at his heels.

Jaime hardly noticed his departure. His head was spinning. Yara Greyjoy on the seas. Brienne in Flea Bottom. Cersei’s enemies were closing in around her and she had no way to know it. She might be crushed, taken by surprise, with no warning of the impending fight ahead. He had to tell her - she might be buried before she even had a chance to rally her men - he had to say _something -_

“You know,” Cersei mused idly, her eyes on the door where Euron had departed. “It really is a refreshing change of pace, being in the hands of a _competent_ commander.” Her gaze circled back to Jaime, lingering for moment on his right hand, on the golden limb she herself had had made for him. A flare of disgust twisted across her otherwise flawless face for a moment before she covered it with a smooth smile, raising her goblet to him in a mockery of a toast.

Jaime raised his in return, and drained it in a single swallow.

He said nothing.

 

* * *

 

The lightning overhead was much closer now, Brienne observed, pausing to briefly rake her gaze across the heavens.

She had no idea what the hour was, how late it had become. She knew nothing at this point save for the endless, relentless work that was before her.

The trickle of escapees was beginning to swell to a flood. Now she did not even have to step out into the street before another cluster of fleeing civilians was in front of her, satchels and sacks clutched in sweating palms, eyes pleading and afraid, black ribbons tied haphazardly around arms and wrists. She guided group after group to the back of the alley, pointing the way down to the caves. Podrick held his position inside the tunnel’s mouth, offering quiet encouragement and comfort as he pointed out the series of flickering torches they had set up every fifty paces or so in the passage’s gloom, a line of beacons that led down the shadowed path, growing fainter and fainter as they grew closer and closer to the ocean exit of the tunnel, to freedom.

She had no idea how long they had left before the battle itself began in earnest, before Daenerys would streak over Euron’s ships and Jon Snow and his remaining men would knock at the gates of King’s Landing. She only knew they were beginning to run low on time.

“Here.” Podrick was at her side, thrusting a waterskin into her hand. “Drink.”

“I told you to not leave the tunnel,” Brienne mumbled, grabbing at the skin anyway and swallowing a lukewarm mouthful gratefully.

Podrick shrugged amiably, then carefully looked her up and down. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” Brienne shot him a confused look, handing the waterskin back. “We’ve had longer nights than this.”

“No - that is, I know - “ Podrick’s face was turning red. “It’s just - with your, um - your condition - they say women grow tired more eas - “

“For the love of - “ Brienne swore, turning and lightly cuffing her squire upside the head. “Podrick, if you’re going to become this stupid for the next few months, I will release you from my service the moment this war is over.”

Podrick flushed even deeper. “I - I meant no offense, Ser - “

“Ser Brienne!”

Brienne turned. In the tunnel’s entrance, the Unsullied man who had accompanied them - Flea, he called himself - was standing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. _He must have sprinted from the oceanside,_ Brienne thought, her pulse beginning to quicken.

“What is it?” She demanded, taking Podrick’s waterskin back and striding to the man’s side, offering him a drink.

Flea gulped quickly at the skin, then gasped, “Yara Greyjoy has arrived by sea - she’s been engaged by Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.”

Brienne stared at him. “Yara Greyjoy? How did she know to come - “

“We don’t think she did, Ser.” Flea’s face was grim. “We think she was coming to offer aid to our Queen, and Euron intercepted her.”

“But - she’ll have no support, she has no idea of our plan, she doesn’t know to try to retreat or hold off for the weather - “  Brienne’s mind was racing frantically. Was there any way, any way at all to send word, to convey a message to the ships - she could think of none, of no way to reach the Greyjoy leader, no means by which to offer support from her place beyond the capital’s walls -

A dreadful and all too familiar roar rent the night air.

Brienne’s stomach turned over. Ignoring Podrick’s yelp of warning, she tore out of the alley, sprinting to the nearest stairs that led up to the top of King’s Landing’s walls. A few soldiers in royal armor looked at her in bafflement as she strode past them - she ignored them and went to the edge of the battlements and looked out, her heart in her throat.

Far off over the water, she could see the sea battle raging - dark shapes and smoky explosions muddled together so she could have no way of seeing which ship was whose, if friend or foe was sinking beneath the waves. But over it all, heavy wings were beating, and torrents of fire were raining down from the heavens, and Daenerys Targaryen was swooping down over the sea on Drogon. Brienne could faintly see her Queen, a smudge of silver on the dragon’s black back. Far overhead, the storm clouds swirled and crackled with lightning - but no rain yet fell.

“Brienne!” Podrick was breathless beside her, staring out over the ocean with her.

“She’s engaging the fleet,” Brienne whispered, her hands clenching. “Without the storm’s cover.”

“Why?” Podrick said bewilderedly. “She’s unprotected from those arrows - “

“Because she wouldn’t let Yara fight alone.” Brienne swore under her breath, furious and helpless as she watched the great form of Drogon weaving and dodging and spilling bright fire onto dark water. 

“So that means - “ Podrick began.

He was interrupted by a tremendous, bellowing clang that rang out through the night like the largest bell ever made. Tearing her eyes away from the ocean, Brienne turned her head to see sudden multitudes of guards running towards the gates of King’s Landing. Even at this distance, she could hear the faint cries of men within and outside the walls, and the beginning clangs of swords and spears clashing together.

“It means,” Brienne said grimly, “that we’re out of time.”

The Battle for King’s Landing - the great war - had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Jaime's taken a Big Fucking Risk here, but IMO if you don't think at least a good chunk of the people of King's Landing aren't at this point like "WE'RE NOT REALLY FOND OF THE MANAGEMENT EITHER, CAN WE GO PLEASE?", you're wrong.
> 
> Next time: The Final Battle. 
> 
> Kudos if you think Brienne of Tarth and her adopted son Podrick should survive the series proper.


	5. With Our Arms Unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I came from the higher streets, lady - beyond Flea Bottom - up there, they - “ She shivered. “They’re wheeling out barrels into the streets, my lady. Dozens of them, lining the roads. Along the insides of the castle walls, along the Red Keep - one burst open and I saw what was inside and it was - it was liquid, and it was green, my lady!”
> 
> Brienne felt her heart turn to ice.
> 
> Wildfire.
> 
> \--------------------------------------------
> 
> War comes to King's Landing. And Brienne and Jaime are on opposite sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one should ever attempt to write a war in a single night. No one. I cannot tell you guys how exhausted I am. If I die before Sunday, it is entirely the result of me trying to finish this damn fic.
> 
> These two idiots in love are going to absolutely destroy me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: We are so far beyond what's actually going to happen at this point it isn't even funny, but you know what? Fuck it. I like my version of events. If D&D screw everything up, I'm falling back on this and fighting everyone about it. Screw it. We're all just playing in GRRM's sandbox anyway.
> 
> Also - just want to say - thank you guys? All? So much? The response to this madness has been just tremendous - all your comments and kudos and bookmarks just stun me. So thank you all for suffering through this with me.
> 
> Also anybody who has a problem with my Daenerys!Love - I'm right, you're wrong, Dany's awesome, shut up.

_And when we die,_

_We will die_

_With our arms unbound._

 

King’s Landing was at war.

At the King’s Gate, the forces of the North and the last of the fighters of Essos were pounding against the walls. Jon Snow led the attack, his face set and determined, grave eyes alight with rage. The mighty doors to King’s Landing were beginning to splinter under the force of two battering rams that were alternately crashing against it. Archers stood to the side, picking off Cersei’s own bowmen on the battlements as they attempted to bring down the men carrying the vast masses of wood, bearing them to collide with that ornate portal again, and again. The Unsullied were firing grappling hooks into the air, climbing the high walls as swift as thought, and now they stood on the parapets and began to engage the soldiers of the city, ruthlessly slicing their way through golden armored hosts.

On the ocean, Yara Greyjoy was shrieking her defiance to the heavens, her voice cutting over the crash of the waves and the smashing of ballistics into the wooden sides of her ships. She grabbed the helm of her own vessel and spun it fiercely around, her eyes locked in on Euron’s rival ship just before her prow, and with a whoop of rage she drove the vessel directly into its opponent’s side. As the wood of her hull splintered and her mast cracked in twain, Yara grabbed the nearest rope and prepared to swing to her enemy’s ship, her eyes full of blood and rage.

In the sky, Daenerys Targaryen’s fiery amethyst eyes were narrowed in ferocious concentration. Drogon’s wings were torn - they had not managed to dodge all of Euron’s bolts - but the dragon was still wheeling and diving in the sky with all his usual awesome grace. With a word hissed between the young Queen’s clenched teeth, Drogon’s mouth opened and fire erupted, blazing downwards at her enemy’s ships below her. Men screamed and threw themselves overboard as two crafts ignited and exploded, sending debris flying into the air. Daenerys wheeled Drogon back around, circling him high above and away from the ensuing volley of arrows that sprung from the rest of Euron’s ships.

And at the bottom of the city, in the slums of Flea Bottom, Ser Brienne of Tarth guided a long line of terrified citizens into the bowels of King’s Landing, away from the fight and towards sanctuary.

Gone were the scattered groups of only hours before, as was any attempt to check for black ribbons around their wrists. Now a long, continuous swarm of the working folk of King’s Landing - bakers, smiths, scholars, beggars, barkeeps, courtesans, men, women, children - was passing into the alley entrance leading down to the tunnels, their faces white and slack with fright. Some carried bags or had packs slung across their backs, carrying what few possessions with them that they could. Some were empty-handed, clearly caught unawares by the sudden start of the battle, following their more knowledgeable compatriots through the streets in a hope against hope that they were being led out of harm’s way.

Brienne was in their midst, doing her best to be an anchor in the sea of chaos. She gave comfort where she could, walking up and down the masses, offering quiet words of reassurance. Where she passed, men and women’s fearful countenances calmed somewhat. Some pressed her hand as she walked by, as if she was a protective charm, as if they could siphon off some of her courage by touch alone. Brienne gripped hands and shoulders with as much reassurance as she manage and did her best to keep the gnawing dread in her heart from reaching her face.

A few yards ahead, a young woman burst into hysterics, and fell practically senseless to the ground. Brienne swooped down and picked her up in her arms, cradling the woman to her chest, gritting her teeth as she looked about.

“You!” Her eyes locked on a burly man nearby, who was swigging from a flask she was rather certain was not filled with water. Startled, the man dropped his flask and met her eyes. She could read the bewildered terror in them. “You want to get out of here alive?” She deposited the young woman at his feet, glaring at him. “Help her.”

The man’s jaw worked, trying to form words. He hesitated and Brienne wondered for a moment if he would refuse or bolt. Then his back straightened, and he wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders. She began to weep against his chest, low and harsh sobs ripping from her throat. The man hushed her gently, glancing back up at Brienne. She gave him an approving clap on the arm, then turned to continue her progress back and forth amongst the teeming crowd.

“Lady Knight!”

A pluck at her elbow. Brienne turned and saw a small girl - she couldn’t have been more than ten - at her hip, staring up at her with round, frightened eyes.

“Where’s your family, child?” Brienne asked, kneeling beside the girl so she could better meet her eyes.

“I don’t know, my lady,” The child’s lip was trembling. “My lady, please - “ The girl began to gasp, great wracking sobs shaking her slim form. Brienne wrapped her arms around the girl fiercely, her eyes scanning the crowd hopelessly. She spotted a nearby family and rose, the girl clutched in her arms, and made her way to them as quickly as she could, dodging the oncoming masses.

The family - mother, father, and two small boys with running noses - paused at her approach. The man immediately bowed his head. “Lady.”

Brienne hefted the girl on her hip. “This little one has lost track of her family.” The man’s eyes darted to the child in her arms. “I was hoping perhaps she might join yours, until she is safe outside the city.”

The man seemed unsure, but his wife immediately opened her arms. “Of course - come here, you wee thing.” The girl in Brienne’s arms hesitated, then reached out her spindly limbs and wrapped them ferociously around the woman’s neck. The mother began to coo softly in her ear, rocking her back and forth as the child shuddered in her embrace.

“My thanks,” Brienne told her quietly.

“Our thanks to you, Ser,” The woman rejoined, just as quietly, her voice nearly lost in the clamor about them.

“The alley is just ahead - you’ll be there in a few minutes.” Brienne passed her hand once over the girl’s hair, uttering a brief prayer to whoever was listening for her safety. She gave both wife and husband a nod, then turned and moved away, ready to continue her mission back up and down the crowds.

“Wait!”

Brienne turned back. The girl struggled loose from the woman’s arms and darted to her side. “Wait, Lady Knight - I had to tell you - “

“Tell me what, child?” Brienne knelt again, her head coming to the girl’s level.

The child gulped, then said in a rush. “I came from the higher streets, lady - beyond Flea Bottom - up there, they - “ She shivered. “They’re wheeling out barrels into the streets, my lady. Dozens of them, lining the roads. Along the insides of the castle walls, along the Red Keep - one burst open and I saw what was inside and it was - it was liquid, and it was _green_ , my lady!”

Brienne felt her heart turn to ice.

_Wildfire._

“Are you certain?” She asked in a low, strangled voice.

The girl bobbed her head in affirmation.

Brienne was very still for a long moment.

“What’s your name, child?” She said at last. She felt as if she was seeing the world from a great distance, the chaos around her erased in the wake of a sudden sharp focusing of her world.

“Esme, lady.” The child bit her lip. “Esme Varren.”

“Esme.” Brienne looked deep into the girl’s eyes. “I need you to tell no one else of what you saw. That will scare people, and people can be very silly when they are scared.” The girl nodded, miserably. “But,” Brienne went on, as gently as she could, “you have done a very brave and very good thing tonight telling me. I want you to know that.”

The child’s terrified expression eased somewhat, the praise making her stand a little straighter.

“Now,” Brienne took her by her tiny shoulders. “I want you to get out of here. Go with that family, and find your own. Get far from this city. Go live a long and happy life. All right?”

Esme nodded, then leapt forward and wrapped her arms swiftly and tightly around Brienne’s neck. Brienne closed her eyes, swamped by an emotion she could not name. Then the girl’s grip was gone and she was dashing back through the crowds to where her newly adopted clan were still waiting. Brienne rose and watched numbly as they were swallowed up by a fresh surge of evacuees.

 _I may never hold my daughter like that_.

Brienne swallowed the lump in her throat and stalled for a heartbeat, her eyes roving about the masses thronging through King’s Landings streets. She stood still as a stone in a river, letting the current of bodies ebb and flow about her.

 _They don’t know._ The thought surfaced in her mind, blindingly clear. Jon and Daenerys, all the troops outside the walls - none of them could have any way of knowing to what depths Cersei’s hunger for victory had sunk. She could picture - with sickening clarity - what might happen if Daenerys did as she had promised and used Drogon’s flames against King’s Landing. The entire city would go up like a tinderbox - nothing and no one would survive the explosion.

_I have to warn them._

“Pod!” She called out loudly, her voice cracking, not expecting a reply. To her astonishment, her squire appeared up a few yards away, emerging from a cluster of young men in scholar’s robes. “To me!”

“Yes, Ser!” Podrick wound his way quickly through the crowds to her side, the frantic energy of the night reflected in his half-feral grin. “It seems to be going well so far, Ser - people are frightened, but they’re not panicking - “

“Pod, Cersei’s lacing the streets with wildfire.”

To his credit, while his color immediately went ashen pale, Podrick needed only a moment to square his shoulders. “What do we need to do?” He asked simply, meeting her eyes.

“We have to warn our side.” Brienne turned to look up the long, winding streets of King’s Landing, past the still growing crush of people. To the left, she could just make out the spires of the Red Keep. She wondered if Cersei was in one of those towers, watching her work unfold on the streets below.

She wondered if Jaime was with her. If he had any idea what his sister had planned.

“We need to get to the King’s Gate - we can send word to Jon there, perhaps he can somehow get word to Queen Daenerys.”

She could feel Podrick’s eyes on her. After a long moment, he said, “It’s a long way to get there.”

“I know.” Brienne said, not taking her gaze from the road unfolding before her.

“We might not make it.”

At this, Brienne closed her eyes. “I know.”

Podrick Payne, the best of squires, took a deep breath. Then his usual disarming smile spread across his face. “It’ll be a bit of a walk - we should get going.”

Brienne did not trust herself to speak, her heart swelling with pride and grim conviction as she looked at her squire - her friend. She only gave him a small nod and a tight smile in return.

Then, side by side, the two of them began weaving their way against the current of fleeing city folk, headed towards the city’s center.

* * *

Jaime Lannister was not sure why he was standing in the tallest room of a nondescript tower a mere several hundred yards away from the King’s Gate. But he was certain that it was for nothing good.

The battle was raging before him, the soldiers of King’s Landing and of Essos and the North fighting and bleeding and dying before his very eyes. He stared down on it all from a large, open window, watched as men he had commanded, men he had once thought to lay down his life for on _both_ sides, clashed together and broke apart like the waves of a storm-stricken sea. If he were down there, in the midst of melee, men on both sides would likely not know whether to fight by him or aim for his head.

“Where's Qyburn?” He asked abruptly, turning from where he stood at the window.

Cersei looked up from where she sat at a great wooden table, a quill in one hand and a scroll of parchment before her. She laid down the writing instrument and raised perfectly arched eyebrows at him. “At the Red Keep.”

“He’s your Hand,” Jaime said frowning. “He should be at your side, especially now of all times.”

A strange smile played across Cersei’s lips. “He has better things to occupy his time.” She rose and came towards him, her hips swaying slightly. To his astonishment, her hands came up and she drew his arm between hers, folding it close to her as she came to stand beside him at the window.

“Look at it, Jaime,” she murmured, gazing down on the battle. “An entire kingdom’s army and more besides, ready to fight and die at our command.” She shivered pleasurably. “Father would be so proud.”

Jaime found himself desperately wishing to unlink his arm from her grasp and step away from his sister. “If you say so,” he muttered instead. He was uncomfortable and could not explain why - Cersei had touched him like this hundreds of times before, wrapped their limbs together and just stood with him. They had come into the world holding one another, for the Seven’s sake. Why now was her touch so - _repellent_ , he realized with a start, that was the word, yes, _repellent_ to him. She repelled him. And yet here he stood at her side, looking down at a war that had brought him back to her.

“I do.” Cersei grasped his hands and turned him towards her, looking up at him with emerald eyes that he knew matched his own. “Jaime, look at us. The golden Lannister twins. Here at the pinnacle of the world, ruling it together.” She chuckled and ran her hands up and down his arms. “It was all Father ever wanted, to see us powerful together.” She paused. “Well. Perhaps not in this precise fashion.”

Jaime could not speak. He found himself merely mutely nodding instead.

Cersei looked disappointed. “Well, don’t be too ecstatic about it,” she snapped, her mood instantly souring. She dropped his hands and stalked away, heading back to her table.

Below him, he could hear the screams of men dying, the ringing crashes of steel against steel. Below him, good men - men he knew - _both sides_ , damn it, he knew them on _both sides -_ were falling to the ground to never rise again. The walls of King’s Landing would be painted red with blood by dawn, and soon the city streets as well. Jon Snow’s army was not through the walls of the city yet, but he could see the King’s Gate splintering and buckling and the Northern and Unsullied fighters who had managed to scale the walls making their way down the stairs to the streets in front of the gate, their blades shining out even in the night.

“We’re too close,” he muttered. He turned to Cersei. “Cersei, we’re too close. They’re already breaching the walls. At this rate, they’ll be at our doorstep here soon.”

Cersei waved a hand dismissively. Her attention had returned to the paper in front of her, and she was scribbling busily. “They won’t make it far. And even if they do, they won’t find us here. They’ll think we’re in the Keep.”

“Which would be the far safer place to be,” Jaime argued, striding towards her. “We don’t need to be at the front lines - we can go further into the city. Back to the Keep. We would be secure there.”

“It’s too late now.” Cersei still was not looking up at him. “Traveling through the city would be more dangerous than remaining here.”

“I know my fighting isn’t what it once was,” Jaime’s voice had a note of pleading in it which he detested. “But I am skilled enough still to convey you safely home - “

An inelegant scoff burst from Cersei’s lips. “ _Skilled_ enough?” She looked at him with mocking amusement. “I would not trust you to butcher a dying cow.”

( _You would fight beside him?_ )

( _I would._ )

“Besides,” Cersei went on, not even noticing the wounded expression in his eyes - or, perhaps, simply not caring, “your sword would be useless to protect us.”

“My sword can get us to the Red Keep’s walls,” Jaime managed. “The Keep might not withstand Daenerys’s dragon for long, but it’s a sight better than this - “

“She uses her dragon on this city at her own peril,” Cersei said calmly, dipping her quill in ink once again.

“What do you mean?” Jaime asked, frowning.

In the pit of his stomach, a dread he had no name for was beginning to twist up towards his heart.

“I mean,” and Cersei was looking up at him now, those gorgeous green eyes glittering, “that unless Daenerys Targaryen wants to be Queen of a flaming pile of rubble and a half million dead subjects, she will not use that creature to attack our streets.”

“She wouldn’t burn the whole city down,” Jaime said. He was beginning to feel curiously numb. “She’s not a madwoman, she would stop once we surrendered - which we _must_ , if we feel too many are in danger -”

“The moment that dragon breathes fire on any street near the city’s center, it won’t matter what she would or would not do.” Cersei’s lovely face was serene and cold. “She’ll have done it.”

The dread was clutching at his stomach like icy claws, now. He said nothing, merely stared at his sister.

Cersei sighed, and looked at him with something akin to pity in her eyes. “You always were the stupidest of the Lannisters,” she murmured.

“What is Qyburn doing at the Keep?” The question seemed to come from far away - he wasn’t even sure he had spoken aloud until she smiled up at him in reply.

“Awaiting my orders.” With a final flourish, Cersei finished her letter, and quickly pressed her seal to the smudge of wax she used to seal it. In the shadows, a messenger clad in black stepped forward to accept it. Cersei handed it to him, and the man swiftly melted back into the shadows and was gone.

“And those orders are?”

Cersei said nothing for a moment. Then she rose once more and sauntered past him to the wide window. He watched her there, her slim form outlined in flashes by the battle outside, her gown rich and scarlet against the black sky.

“I miss Joffrey,” she said suddenly, her back still to him.

“Joffrey,” he repeated uncomprehendingly. He had loved his son, his unacknowledged bastard of a bastard, but even he knew who and what Joffrey had been.

“Mmmm.” Cersei slid her hands across the window’s ledge, her delicate fingers digging into the marble. “Joffrey would have appreciated tonight. He always was a violent little thing,” and her voice was almost dreamy. “Brutal instincts. Fierce. He would have been like Father, had he grown into a proper man. A Lannister man, through and through.” She looked back at him curiously. “I wonder if it skipped a generation with you.”

The insult glanced off his armor as if it was nothing. Jaime had no time for barbs, not when the rising horror in his stomach was slowly overtaking all else in his mind. “Cersei, what orders did you just send to Qyburn?”

“I always knew they would make it into the city,” Cersei went on thoughtfully, as if she’d not even heard his query. “Somehow, some way. Either that Dragon Queen would break down the walls with that huge lizard of hers, or that fool from the North, Jon Snow, would rally enough men to his side to overtake us by force.” She shrugged and finally turned around to face him. “So our strategy became to not prevent their entrance, but rather to allow it to happen. Let them take the city. Draw them into its very heart. Have them make for the Red Keep. And then, once they’re inside, once we have them where we want them…” She smiled, and it was a heartbreakingly lovely sight. “Then, we burn them all. Every last single one of them.”

There it was. The horror had a name and a face to it at last.

“Wildfire,” Jaime whispered.

Cersei’s smile widened. “Wildfire,” she agreed.

* * *

The Red Keep loomed like a great tombstone on the horizon as Brienne and Podrick paused, gasping for breath, at the edge of the Dragon Square. They had been fighting upstream against the flow of refugees for an hour, dodging hundreds, thousands of bodies swarming past them, and in all that time had only made it halfway to the King’s Gate. They had hurried, as much as they were able, but there was only so fast they could go against the tide of people fleeing past them down to Flea Bottom, seeking the back passages out of the city.

 _At least they know where to go,_ Brienne thought to herself. That was some relief. If nothing else, their presence in the city, Varys’s friends and Jaime’s support (she would not think of _why_ he had done what he did, to not only let her go but then to come to their aid and the rescue of his people…) had made a difference this night. She remembered Ben’s face, Johene’s and Penny’s, and Esme’s, and in the shadows of the square Brienne let her eyes close in brief thankfulness. At least, some had made it out. At least, some were going to survive.

But people still might die - and die by the thousands, the whole of King’s Landing, all at once - if they did not get to the King’s Gate in time.

“You all right, Pod?” She asked, her breath finally easing from the rasping exhalations she had been giving.

“Yes, Ser!” Podrick gasped at her side with a wheeze, pounding at his ribs. “Never better.”

“Let’s keep moving, then.” The square was full of floods of citizens as well, but the wide open space gave them more room to navigate, and they began to make quick progress across the marketplace. Along the edges of the square, Brienne noted with a stab of alarm, dark barrels squatted in sinister lines. The frightened folk of King’s Landing seemed to be instinctively avoiding the ominous casks - no one was straying within a few feet of them, shying away and making wide berths to keep from coming any closer than was necessary.

They were almost to the center when Brienne skidded to a halt, throwing up an arm to stop Podrick as well.

Across the square came the stomping of many armored feet.

Civilians were stumbling back and away from that side, their quick pace turning to flat sprints to the alleys surrounding as a helmeted contingent appeared, marching into the courtyard. Even in the shadowy night, illuminated only by torches and the far off battle, their armor gleamed a brazen yellow.

Brienne’s stomach clenched.

The Golden Company.

They paused a good fifty feet off, a hundred or so men gleaming in the darkness, their spears and swords coming unsheathed. One by one, each weapon of the party before them was leveled in their direction.

“Brienne of Tarth.” A steel-eyed captain strode to the front of the company, his clacking boots suddenly the only noise in the square. The cityfolk around her had grown strangely silent, drawing back from the confrontation unfolding before them. “We were told we might find you here.”

Brienne felt a cold sweat begin on her brow. No. No, not now. Not before she had gotten to Jon Snow, not before she had had a chance to warn them -

“You are under arrest,” The man went on, his cold voice ringing out through the night, “and sentenced to death, by the order of Queen Cersei, First of Her Name. Turn over your weapons and surrender yourself into our custody.”

“I decline,” Brienne replied, her voice low but clear in the quiet square. At her side, Podrick was silent, but she could see from the corner of her eye the stalwart resolution that had come into his face, the same she felt beating in her heart. If this was how the night was to play out - if this was where her quest finished - she would be damned before she ended it bent and broken before Cersei’s throne.

“You are under arrest,” the captain repeated. His moved and suddenly a naked blade was in his hand, pointed straight at her. “If you will not come quietly, we will have to take you by force.”

Brienne drew herself up to her full height, her spine straight, her eyes bright. With a grace as natural as breathing, she drew Oathkeeper and brandished it in front of her. Even in the dim night, the blade shone.

“Then come and take me.”

A pregnant pause, as if the world held its breath. Around her, Brienne saw herself reflected in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing, the people she had come to save, the people she would now die for. Across the square, she saw the captain’s eyes narrow, saw him open his mouth to give the order -

A great, shrieking cry tore through the night. A roar of unimaginable power and fury.

And then Daenerys Targaryen landed Drogon squarely on top of the Golden Company.

Brienne was so startled she couldn’t think or move. She could only stare dumbly as Queen and dragon _tore_ through the assorted men. The people of King’s Landing scattered in terror, racing from the carnage before them. The screams of the Golden Company rose in a terrible cacophony and then faded to whimpers as Drogon whirled about, stomping and snapping and clawing at his foes. When the last member of the company lay twitching, crushed in his death throes, Drogon lifted his great, terrible head to the sky and roared in triumph, his gigantic wings flared proudly to the heavens, black against the blacker sky.

Brienne came to her senses just in time.

“ _No!”_ She screamed, running faster than she’d ever run before across the marketplace. “ _Your Grace, no - no fire, don’t use fire!”_

What miracle took the words from her lips and swept them to the Dragon Queen’s ears, she would never know. But as the faint moans of what remained of the Golden Company contingent filled the air, Daenerys Targaryen turned her gaze to Brienne. Beneath her, Drogon stilled, his monstrous head twisting on his serpentine neck, curling down to glare at Brienne with ferocious, alien intelligence in his eyes. She realized she had sprinted straight up to the massive creature, and she skidded to a halt before she ran into one of his giant forelegs. She had never been so close to the great dragon before, and despite her terror she felt the overwhelming awe, that such a legend should be.

Daenerys was staring down at her, her violet eyes coldly patient, awaiting an explanation.

“Wildfire,” Brienne explained with a gasp, pointing across the square. “Cersei’s lined it up everywhere - a single spark and the whole city goes up.”

Daenerys raised her head and stared across the marketplace, her eyes carefully tracking the dozens upon dozens of black barrels lining the buildings and streets around her. Brienne saw the Queen’s face twist in shock and understanding.

Then Drogon settled slightly closer to the ground and Daenerys was swinging her legs to one side and sliding down off her dragon’s back, her white robes swirling around her. She landed gracefully and strode over to Brienne, stopping just before her to stare up into the taller woman’s eyes.

Brienne bowed her head in respect.

“Is it like this everywhere in the city?” Daenerys asked her quietly. Those violet eyes were piercing, the emotions beneath them tumultuous.

“I believe so, your Grace,” Brienne replied softly.

Daenerys drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “She placed it deliberately, thinking that I would - “

“Yes.”

Daenerys studied her closely, those bright amethyst eyes filled with a sudden clear light.

“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice soft in the still air.

Brienne blinked. “Your Grace?”

“You stopped me in time.” Daenerys glanced back to where Drogon sat on the stones. Brienne was somehow not surprised to see his predatory eyes fixed on them. “I would not have been able to forgive myself, had I - had the worst occurred.”

Brienne’s head was reeling. “I - your Grace, I - “

“The correct response to ‘thank you’,” and of all things, a faint, humorous smile was lighting up Daenerys’s face, “is ‘you’re welcome’.”

“It was my honor, your Grace,” Brienne settled on instead, bowing even more deeply than she had before.

It was then that Brienne became aware that they had an audience. From the alcoves and alleyways where they had hidden around the square, the cityfolk were emerging, faces stricken with fear - and wonder. To a man, they were all staring at Daenerys Targaryen. The Dragon Queen seemed to sense what Brienne had at the same time, for she turned and stared at the masses before her, her features schooled into blankness but her eyes slightly shocked. Brienne thought she had never before seen Daenerys look uncertain, and realized it was the first time she was standing in the city she hoped to rule, the first time she was seeing the people she had intended to claim as her own.

Brienne cleared her throat and stepped forward. _For Missandei._ “I present to you,” she bellowed to the assembled crowds. “Queen Daenerys Stormborn, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons!”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then a single figure from the crowd stepped forward. An older man, gray and grizzled, his back still straight even though his face was wizened with care. He paced forward slowly but deliberately, coming to a stop a few feet from them both. He was staring at Daenerys with an indecipherable expression, dark eyes unreadable in his lined countenance. She stared back silently, violet eyes shining in the night.

Then the man was sinking to his knees, his head inclined.

“My Queen.” His voice - low and quiet though it was - rang throughout the still square.

Daenerys let out a long, shuddering breath. Brienne thought she saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes.

Then - as if a wave was breaking - row after row of the people of King’s Landing, young and old, man and woman alike, were kneeling in the square, their heads all bowing in unison. From the huddled masses, a harmony of voices began to rise up - soft at first, then swelling to a ringing chorus.

“My Queen.”

“My Queen.”

“ _My Queen._ ”

Brienne watched as Daenerys Targaryen saw the people of King’s Landing bend the knee to her.

The expression on the young Queen’s face could almost have broken her heart.

After a moment, Daenerys cleared her throat. She walked over to the first man who had knelt, and with gentle hands brought him to his feet. She turned and stared out over the hundreds of kneeling figures, who gazed back at her with what looked like hope in their eyes.

“My people.” Daenerys’s voice, soft as it was, cut through the silence of the courtyard. In the distance the battle raged, but Brienne felt as if all sounds outside of this square had been cut off, muted in the wake of Daenerys Stormborn standing in King’s Landing facing her subjects for the first time. “My people,” she said again, and there was passion and pain in her voice. “I owe you an apology.”

Heads rose in a ripple to stare at her.

“I had never meant to come to you in war,” Daenerys went on, growing louder as she began to wander among them, meeting eye after eye, looking her subjects in the face. “It was never my intention to be a conqueror. It was never my intention to bring battle to your doorstep, to fill your lives with fear at my approach.” She gazed out over the silent crowds, who seemed to hang on her every word. “But bring it, I did. And fear me, you did.”

“That ends now.”

Daenerys Targaryen turned in a circle, looking out over the vast masses, her face uplifted, her eyes bright. Brienne felt her heart twist in her chest - there was something almost sacred about this moment, about the Dragon Queen walking amongst her people, her spirit shining bright and clear in her amethyst eyes.

“I swear to be your guardian,” Daenerys’s voice was a clarion cry. “I swear to honor you and care for you. I swear to always lead you to joy and not to suffering, to peace and not to war. I swear to listen to your words and heed them to serve you and your needs as best I may. And above all else - “ Her voice rose to a ringing pitch. “I swear to be your champion, your defender, and your Queen, until the breath departs my body and my heart beats no more. _And may the Seven above strike me down if I break my oath!_ ”

A roar went up from the crowd, clamorous and fierce. It swelled and broke over the square, a thousand voices raised at once.

“ _Dae-ner-ys! Dae-ner-ys!”_

With tears streaming suddenly down her face, Daenerys raised her arms for silence, which came shockingly swiftly, her people falling into reverent stillness as fast as thought at her command.

“Now!” She cried out. “All of you to safety, while we finish this war once and for all!”

Another great cheer, that was tinged with some relief, rose up in the night. The people of King’s Landing began to scramble to their feet, regathering their discarded possessions, moving again towards the street out of the square that wound down towards Flea Bottom. As they passed their new Queen, many bobbed their heads, looking up at her with awe.

Daenerys watched them go for a moment, her amethyst eyes sparkling. Then she turned to Brienne.

“Drogon and I can’t remain here,” she said, looking at first Brienne and then Podrick, who had appeared at her side. “The longer we wait, the more likely Cersei is wheeling those scorpions of hers about to point grounds-ward instead of to the sky.”

“And we need to get to the King’s Gate,” Brienne rubbed her hand over her eyes, head spinning from the spectacle she had just witnessed. “We have to warn Jon and the rest about Cersei’s plans. A loose flaming arrow and the whole city could still go up in smoke.”

Daenerys nodded. “You’ll never get there in time walking.”

“You could go pass on the news for us,” Brienne pointed out.

“And leave you abandoned in the midst of this death trap?” Daenerys shook her head. “No. I would not do that to you.”

“You must needs fly, though,” Brienne urged.

“And you must needs join the North in their fight on the walls,” Daenerys returned, frowning at her. “And we must get you there as quickly as possible.”

Brienne sighed. “And how might we accomplish that, my Queen?”

“Oh, I believe I have an idea.” Daenerys Targaryen smiled, a fierce grin that illuminated her entire face. “Have you ever wanted to ride a dragon?”

No, Brienne thought after a moment, shocked briefly into silence. She certainly had not.

“Will he be able to carry us all?” She asked faintly. “All three - I can’t leave Pod behind - “ she shot her squire a fierce suppressing glare at his mumble of protest.

“To the Gate?” Daenerys turned and studied the distance between them and where again Brienne could hear the brawl raging against the walls. “I would not wish to go much further with three riders on his back, but - yes. I believe we should be able to make it. Pending Cersei’s scorpions, of course,” she added grimly.

Brienne glanced to where Drogon still lay crouched on the wide stones of the square, his sides torn and heaving, his wings shuttered close to his body. “Will he - err - let us? Ride him?”

“Only one way to find out.” Daenerys smiled at Brienne, then began to stride back over to her dragon.

Brienne breathed deeply for a moment.

“This,” Pod remarked beside her, his voice high-pitched with chagrin, “is madness.”

“Yes,” Brienne agreed. “It truly is.”

Then she was following her Queen across the stretch of white marble squares to approach the great dragon.

Drogon huffed at their approach, his eyes trained on Brienne and Pod, suspicion lurking in their depths.

“Let him smell you,” Daenerys warned, running a hand down Drogon’s side. “He won’t let you on him if he doesn’t like your scent.”

Well, that was comforting. Brienne squared her shoulders and carefully stepped before the creature’s snout, going very still as Drogon inhaled sharply, his crimson eyes never leaving her face. Behind her Podrick squeaked once, very softly.

The dragon considered them a long moment, massive silver teeth bared, hot breath hissing between his huge jaws. Then those alien eyes - they did not soften, that was not the right word, but the ferocity in them faded somewhat and Drogon’s great head relaxed to the stones below in assent.

Brienne released a breath she had not known she was holding. “Will he - “

“He will.” Daenerys climbed easily up the beast’s back, sliding her hands over his obsidian scales in affection. “Come.”

Brienne moved swiftly to the dragon’s side, hesitating a moment before carefully reaching out to find the handholds on his back that allowed her to clumsily drag herself up his massive form. Podrick scrambled up behind her, his face rather stunned as they both felt the dragon’s ribs expand and contract beneath their legs.

“Hold on to what you can,” Daenerys called back to them. Brienne latched her hand around one of the spikes that trailed down Drogon’s spine, gritting her teeth. She jumped as she felt Podrick’s arms come tightly around her stomach and her squire buried his face in her shoulder. Another time she might have protested, but at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care.

With a great bellowing roar, Drogon unfurled his mighty wings and launched himself into the air.

The city fell away beneath them. Brienne swore to every god she knew as they wheeled up and up, her stomach turning over as Drogon sailed skyward. Almost immediately she saw a flurry of the arrows of Cersei’s scorpions volley upwards, aimed at their retreat. Drogon dodged them narrowly, snarling his defiance, before he winged his way southward. It was a matter of a few wingbeats, a few moments of swooping terror that had Brienne nearly sick to her stomach. Then, faster than she could have imagined, they were outside the city gates, behind the lines of their own warriors, swooping down to land a few yards away from a white tent a quarter mile back from the walls of King’s Landing itself.

Drogon settled easily to earth, his claws sinking into the dirt below. Daenerys slid off his back, with Brienne and Podrick following suit. The Dragon Queen landed easily, while Brienne staggered and Podrick fully lost his balance and stumbled to the ground.

“My Queen?”Tyrion Lannister was coming towards them from the tent. The Queen’s Hand did not look well - his face was haggard and bleak. His eyes darted between them bewilderedly. “Ser Brienne - Pod - why are you - “

“Cersei has laced the city with wildfire,” Daenerys interrupted him bluntly.

The Imp blanched. “Of course she has,” he murmured, passing a hand over his eyes. “Of course my cunt of a sister would pull such a move - “

“I cannot risk using Drogon in this battle anymore,” Daenerys went on. Tyrion’s hand dropped from his face, and he looked up at his Queen in shock. “We cannot risk him accidentally setting the city ablaze - it would be catastrophe.”

“I agree,” Tyrion said slowly, gazing at Daenerys with an odd expression dawning in his eyes.

“You should tell the archers as well,” Daenerys’s eyes raked over the line of the front some hundreds of yards off. Brienne could see their men, black against the pale walls. “No more flaming arrows. They could do more harm than good.”

“I’ll see to it,” her Hand promised. “What of Euron Greyjoy?”

“Euron Greyjoy’s body will never be found.” An unholy, vengeful joy lit up the Dragon Queen’s eyes. “I left his head with Yara Greyjoy. His ships are destroyed. The sea is ours.”

The tension in the Imp’s face eased somewhat, and Tyrion’s eyes fluttered closed briefly in gratitude. “We have good news from our side as well, your Grace,” he said. “A contingency from Essos arrived not a half candlemark since - a good thousand, all told.”

“From Essos?” Brienne could see Daenerys’s brow furrow in confusion. “I did not send - “

“You may not have, but they came anyway.” Tyrion glanced back at the battle behind them, his face dourly and viciously pleased. “Quite the pack of fighters, this lot. They call themselves the Second Sons?”

Brienne saw Daenerys sway in place, her bronzed skin suddenly blanching. “The Second Sons - “

“I told you,” a voice, male and satisfied and warm, said from nearby. A tall, dark, handsome man was standing at the entrance to Tyrion’s war tent. His black eyes glimmered with raw affection so clear Brienne felt almost embarrassed to witness it. “Daario Naharis is still yours, my Queen. As is all that comes with him.”

There was a moment of complete stillness while the Dragon Queen stared at the man. Then her feet were moving quickly, her face twisting in exultation, and Daenerys Targaryen was throwing herself into the stranger’s arms, her hands coming up to catch at his cheeks and bring his mouth fervently down to hers.

Brienne coughed awkwardly. She glanced at Tyrion, wondering what the Imp made of the Queen welcoming their guest in so...ardent, a fashion. She had thought that Daenerys and Jon were - but no, there was no hint of any condemnation on Tyrion’s face, merely a faint and wistful amusement.

“You came for me,” Daenerys breathed, finally dragging her mouth from his.

Daario leaned his head forward, his forehead pressing against hers. “Did you doubt me?”

Daenerys let out a strangled laugh. “A foolish mistake on my part.” She ran her hands down his form blindly, then shook her head, clearly bringing herself back to the present. She turned back to face Brienne and Tyrion. “How fares our front on land?”

“We’re making our way in, but it’s slow going and we’re losing more men than I would like, even with the Second Sons’ timely arrival,” Tyrion drew close to her. “A dragon would have been a good ally to have at present, but - “

“Just because he cannot use his fire does not mean Drogon cannot still be useful,” Brienne pointed out, coming to the side of Queen, Hand, and mercenary.

“We cannot keep him in the air long without risking Cersei’s scorpions,” Tyrion returned, his face grim. “We cannot use him to blast away her armies on the ground either, for obvious reasons. Right now, we’re sludging our way forward, but this battle could still go either way - ”

“ - and Cersei may still choose to light the whole city up at any moment and damn the whole lot of us,” Daenerys added. “Especially if she thinks she’s losing. We need to find a way to stop her from using that wildfire.”

“Qyburn, her Hand, would be the one in charge of the actual ignition, is my bet.” Tyrion paused, turning to study the battle that raged not far away. “He’ll want to have a safe vantage point, somewhere he can watch the carnage without risking his own neck - “

“The Red Keep,” Brienne’s eyes locked on the monolith, which even from this distance loomed ominously into the night sky, its scarlet walls as blood in the night. “That’s where they’ll most likely be, he and Cersei alike - it’s secure there, they could wait out the whole battle, possibly even avoid the fires themselves if they’ve only put barrels in the city proper - “

Daenerys’s eyes narrowed as she locked her gaze on the far off castle. “The best way to defeat a snake is to chop off its head,” she murmured. “If Cersei herself falls - if we make sure no one is alive to give the order to burn the city - “

“The battle will be ours,” Tyrion breathed, his expression turning fierce. “Yes.”

Daenerys Targaryen stood staring at the Keep for a long moment, something ferocious swimming in her violet eyes. Then she turned and began to walk back to Drogon. “Daario and I will fly Drogon to the Keep. We will find Cersei and Qyburn.”

Brienne and Tyrion choked out protests at the same time.

“My Queen, it is too dangerous - “

“Your Grace, if Drogon is shot down - “

“I swore to the people of this city,” Daenerys said calmly, turning back around to face them. Lightning crackled overhead. _When will this storm ever break?_ Brienne thought absently. “I swore to defend them, to protect them this night and all nights I live hereafter. I will honor my vow.” And the Dragon Queen was unbent and unbroken, her silver hair and amethyst eyes shining out like a beacon in the dark night. Brienne felt a lump rise in her throat at the sight Daenerys made. “I will not let Cersei hurt _my_ people.”

Beside Brienne, the mercenary man - Daario - stepped forward to join his Queen at her side. “They’re only two souls, eh?” He said amiably, a dangerous spark in his dark eyes. “We’ve killed more and better than that in our time.”

“We certainly have,” Daenerys murmured, glancing up at the sellsword’s face, unspeakable tenderness in her eyes.

Tyrion’s breath was rough, his eyes uncertain. “My Queen, if you do not return - “

“Then I have done my service to my people.” Daenerys looked at her Hand, her face serene and determined. “Tyrion - I can do this.”

Tyrion was silent for a moment. “I’ve no doubt you can,” he said at last, heavily.

Daenerys smiled at him briefly. Her eyes wandered up to meet Brienne’s unhappy blue ones. “Ser Brienne, you have done me a service this night. The city would have burned had you not alerted me to the wildfire’s presence.” The lump in Brienne’s throat was threatening to choke her. Daenerys glanced at Tyrion. “Make sure that they know, all who fought here today - make sure they know that they owe their lives to the Knight of Tarth.”

“They owe their lives to _you_ ,” Brienne managed to say. Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed in a vice. “They owe the lives to the rightful Queen of the Andals.”

“We can share the burden of being legends, then.” And for the last time, Brienne saw Daenerys’s smile, lovely and fierce and perhaps just a little sad, shining out in the night. The Dragon Queen raised one pale hand in farewell, and Brienne lifted hers as well, her fist clenched to the heavens.

Then Daenerys Targaryen was turning away and striding to Drogon’s side, her mercenary at her heels. It was the work of a few seconds, then both were secure on the dragon’s back and Drogon was rising again into the sky, circling in a wide berth over the battle, wheeling towards where the Red Keep lurked in the distance.

“She’s quite the Queen,” Brienne murmured, watching them go.

“...she is.” Tyrion’s face was disgruntled and miserable. He began to shuffle back to the tent. “Come - there is wine and meat, you must be exhausted - “

Brienne stared at the Imp in puzzlement. “There’s no time. I have to get to the front.”

Tyrion whirled about, his jaw going slack. “You’re going to _return_ to the fight?!”

“You said it yourself, you’re losing men fast,” Brienne pointed out. “You need every pair of hands you have at that battle.”

“But - you came from behind the line, you ensured the citizens escaped the city, you got us the news of the wildfire, surely you’ve done enough - “

“Not when there’s more to do,” Brienne asserted quietly. “This war isn’t over yet, my lord.”

Tyrion was staring at her in stunned silence, clearly too shocked to reply. Brienne waited a moment politely, then - unsure if she had perhaps permanently broken the Imp’s mind - she bowed her head. “Excuse me, my lord.” Her hand strayed to Oathkeeper’s hilt, her thumb tracing the golden lion there. “I must go. Come on, Pod.” Pod nodded, his face set in resolve. Brienne turned and made to walk away.

“My brother didn’t deserve you.”

Brienne turned back, her heart coming to her throat. Tyrion face was a grimace of disgust. “He never could.”

“Don’t, my lord,” Brienne made out, her throat tight. “Don’t speak of him so.”

“He deserves it,” Tyrion spat. “The miserable _twat_ \- to return to Cersei, to leave you behind in the North - “

“He’s a better man than you know.” Brienne was suddenly desperate - Jaime’s brother had to know the truth, he _had_ to. “I was not the only one sending people to freedom tonight, my lord.”

Tyrion’s eyes grew round. “Jaime was - “

“He found me. In Flea Bottom. He could have turned me over to Cersei in a heartbeat.” Brienne closed her eyes, allowing Jaime’s face - handsome and worn, wild eyes and clenched teeth, glaring up at her - to swim behind them. “Instead he sent the people of King’s Landing to find me and make their way to freedom.” She opened her eyes again and looked pleadingly at Tyrion. “He is a _good_ man, Tyrion. I have seen it.”

“...you may be right,” Tyrion said numbly, staring at her with an awful light of hope in his gaze.

“I know I am,” Brienne returned quietly. Behind her, there was an almighty crash. Brienne spun round to see - her pulse quickened - the great doors of King’s Gate finally giving way, bowing inward and shattering, falling backwards into the city with a terrible boom. A great cheer arose from far off as the Northern and Essos troops surged forward, entering the city.

“Go.” Tyrion looked up at her, his face turning fierce. “Go end this.” He paused. “And thank you. For telling me.”

Brienne nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She reached out a hand, and Tyrion reached out his, and they clasped palms together fiercely for a moment, both of them bound in their love for the same man.

Then Brienne and Podrick were racing across the battlefield, making their way to the beginning of the end.

* * *

Jaime had not moved from his vigil at the tower’s window. He was staring out with unseeing eyes over the battlescape, the war below him not registering in his shocked eyes.

_Wildfire._

_She’s laced the streets with wildfire._

Aerys Targaryen had been a madman. He had known that to the bottom of his soul, it had been obvious, leaking out of him in every word, in every frenetic gesture and impossible demand.

_Burn them all._

He had not recognized insanity in Cersei. He was not even sure that that was the word for whatever twisted poison lay in her heart and mind. Whatever it was, it had brought him here again to this moment, back to a ruler who was prepared to destroy her city and everyone in it before she let a rival take the throne. She would massacre the people of King’s Landing without a second thought, if it meant destroying the soldiers descending on their gates at the same time.

( _Y_ _ou’re a good man and you can’t save her.)_

Above them, a bellowing cry. Jaime dragged his gaze up from the melee. Drogon’s massive black form was a streak across the night sky.

 _This is it,_ Jaime thought, nauseous with pain and guilt. _One spurt of dragon fire and this is all over -_

But no fire came. Uncomprehendingly, Jaime watched as the dragon did not descend to circle over the war, dropping flames in its wake, but instead flew directly and purposefully far overhead. As he stared numbly, Drogon spiraled down on the far side of the city, his great body coming to land with a crash that rang out even from a distance on the roofs and walls of the Red Keep.

“What is that monster doing?” Cersei was suddenly there at his side - he hadn’t felt her approach. “And where are my archers?” She scowled. “Those scorpions are so easy a child could operate them - I’ll go man one myself if I don’t see someone firing at that creature soon - “

“No need,” Jaime choked out, pointing out. Drogon had launched himself again into the sky, soaring high into the darkness, vanishing into the storm clouds boiling above.

“What a wasted opportunity,” Cersei sighed in disappointment. “I thought for certain that creature would ignite the city. Ah, well.” She shrugged. “Qyburn should be almost ready at this point anyway.”

There was a hollow ringing in Jaime’s ears. Another great clamor broke out - he dragged his gaze from the Red Keep back to the King’s Gate in time to see the great doors finally give way, the wood practically disintegrating in a cloud of dust and debris. The Northern and Essos troops were swarming over the rubble within moments, their voices raised in vengeful, joyous cries.

“And what perfect timing,” Cersei mused, drawing away from the window.

“Call out the Golden Company,” he managed to say, spinning around. “Send them to the gates, repulse the North back, they can’t get further into the city - “

“I will not waste the Golden Company on petty rabble,” Cersei said scornfully.  “The men of the Watch and the Queen’s soldiers can handle these rebels.”

“They _can’t,_ though,” Jaime said desperately. “They’re dying out there.” _And the men of the North and the men of Essos will die in here, if they’re not pushed back._

Cersei raised her brows at him. “Is that supposed to trouble me?”

Sickened, Jaime turned and watched as a swath of men in dark armor began to cut their way through the lines of defense at the city gates. It was slow, brutal going - but it was going, and he could see them advancing, steadily and surely, drawing closer and closer to their tower. To the City Center. To their incineration.

“Besides,” Cersei went on behind him. “The Golden Company has a much more important task at hand this night.”

“And that is?” Jaime asked distractedly, wondering what avenues of escape would be left for any of the Watch below.

“Hunting down your great Maid of Tarth.”

Jaime felt the bottom drop out of his world.

He turned slowly to face his sister.

Cersei’s face was a composed mask of triumph. “Did you think that that lumbering bitch could be in my streets and no one would take note? I know my city, and my spies are everywhere.” She smiled up at him, lovely and serene. “The moment she was spotted coming out of Flea Bottom, I knew of it.”

 _Brienne had left Flea Bottom -_ His head was spinning - _she could be in the city proper, she could be down there amongst those black casks of death - why would she come through the streets, why would she leave her alley post -_

“She was trying to save our people,” he heard himself saying, as if from a great distance. “She was in Flea Bottom escorting them out through the tunnels.”

“Tyrion or Varys’s plan, no doubt.” Cersei poured wine into a goblet from a glass decanter. “I don’t particularly care why she’s here.”

“Then why send the Golden Company to find her?” His voice was exquisitely, painfully calm. Inside he was screaming.

Cersei popped the glass cork back into the bottle with a flourish. “Because I know that she was your lover.”

Jaime could only stare at her. “How - “

Cersei chuckled. “Jaime. Darling Jaime.” She came towards him, goblet in hand, and raised a hand to his cheek. “I _know_ you. I know every part of your soul, for it is the same as mine. You think that you could keep her hidden from me? That I wouldn’t know your hands had been on her skin, your cock inside her?” Her mouth twisted in disgust. “Mind you, I’m still not entirely sure _why -_ that pock-marked, gargantuan cow on two legs - “

 _Don’t speak of her,_ he wanted to cry, _don’t you speak of her, you don’t know her, you don’t deserve to know her_ name _-_ He could feel her long, elegant fingers on his cheek, those sharp nails lightly scratching his skin.

“All of the Golden Company,” He said quietly. “In search of one woman.”

Cersei nodded. Then, quick as a thought, she slapped him. Jaime’s head snapped around at the blow. He barely felt it. A curious numbness was descending on his limbs, trickling like icy water down his spine.

“They’ll bring you her head,” Cersei told him, with a faint sneer. “You’ll have those lovely eyes all to yourself. Until they rot, of course.”

Numb. Numb, numb, quiet and numb.

The ringing in his ears was louder now, as well. Not loud enough to drown out the raging battle still outside, but enough that the buzz of thoughts swimming through his mind was falling away. The haze that had occupied him the past few weeks - since before he had left Winterfell, since that cursed raven had bought news north of Rhaegal and Missandei - felt as if it was wrapping about him, smothering him like a dank, poisonous fog.

Cersei had returned to the window. She studied the carnage unfolding below her idly, as if watching nothing more interesting than a not particularly exciting tourney. As he watched, she raised the goblet of wine to her lips.

“That can’t be good for the baby,” he heard himself say, far away.

Cersei did not even turn around. “You needn’t concern yourself with my child.”

“It’s my child, too.”

“Is it, though?” Cersei shot him a smirk over her shoulder.

That pierced through the cold that was beginning to overtake him. He stumbled to her, seizing her arm in his hand. “You said - you said it was _mine_ \- “

“You may have been inside me,” Cersei said with a careless twist of her head, jerking her wrist free. “But so has Euron Greyjoy. So. Who’s to say, really?”

Cold. Icy, icy cold. “It’s my child. You were pregnant long before you ever lay with Euron - “

“ _J_ _aime_ ,” Cersei sighed, her voice lovingly caressing his name, as it had so many thousands of times before. She turned her emerald eyes to his. “Do you really think that I would let the man who abandoned his Queen to ride North and fuck his giant whore in Winterfell call himself a father of any child of mine?”

“You said…” Jaime’s voice trailed away. He realized looking into Cersei’s green gaze how little it mattered, what she had said before.

“Euron is the baby’s father,” Cersei told him calmly, raising her wine again to her lips. “I’ve already told him so.” There was something akin to pity in her eyes as she looked up at him.

There was a long moment when the two of them did nothing more than gaze at one another.

“Did you ever love me?” He found himself asking, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, Jaime.” Those brilliant eyes grew tender. “I always will.”

( _Stay. Stay with me. Please._ )

Cold. Cold. Numb and cold.

 _This was what I abandoned Brienne for_ , Jaime thought, his gaze vacant, seeing nothing. _This is why I returned South. For this._

 _No,_ another voice whispered in his mind, soft and persistent. He was quite sure he was going mad, for he could have sworn the voice was that of Bran Stark. _Not for this._

_It’s almost time._

“Where _is_ Qyburn?” Cersei was demanding. She stood in front of the great bay window, her lips pursed, studying the slowly encroaching wall of dark-clad men that was almost to the base of their tower. “Dragon Square should be a pit of fire by now -” She paused, her eyes suddenly narrowing on the street below before gave a shrill, delighted laugh. “Oh. Oh, by the Seven, this is _too_ wonderful.” She craned her neck to look back at Jaime and her mouth was an obscenity of a smile. “There’s someone here you might want to see.”

As if in a dream - in a nightmare -  Jaime came to the window and looked down.

Her helmet was off, her pale blonde hair was shining even in the shadows, Oathkeeper was swinging in her hands, and he would have known that armor anywhere.

Jaime Lannister looked down as Brienne of Tarth, her piercing cry reaching his ears even over the tumult of the battle below, hacked and cut and slashed her way through the avenue below their tower. She spun and thrust with her usual ferocious grace, as if the fight was a dance and her blade her partner. She was devastating. She was deadly.

She was going to die. Immolated in Cersei’s fire.

He was going to have to watch her die.

The numbness was almost complete now. Jaime felt as if he were sunk in a bath of ice, frozen in every limb, in every particle of himself.

“I’m docking the Golden Company’s pay once this is over,” Cersei remarked, watching as Brienne fought and men died beneath her. “One measly woman and they can’t even manage to find and execute her properly.”

Jaime turned and stared at her.

His beautiful, clever, wild, passionate sister.

His first love.

Cersei.

With a grimace, she turned, her skirts swirling about her. “Damn Qyburn - if he can’t do something as simple as light a candle on fire, I’ll send someone else to do it - “

 _Now,_ Bran Stark whispered.

The haze in Jaime’s mind vanished as if swept away by a hurricane. It was replaced by a brilliant clarity.

In the next instant, Jaime’s golden hand was around Cersei’s throat.

She choked, more in surprise than pain, her hands coming up to scrabble at his grip. “Jaime - “ she sputtered out, her emerald eyes wide with shock. “What are you - “

Slowly, implacably, Jaime drew closer to the window. The ice inside him was complete now, his thoughts clear for the first time in what felt like weeks - maybe months - maybe years.

With great care, he lifted Cersei up and began to move her over the edge.

“Jaime - “ Alarm was shining in those emerald depths now, her fingers frantically scraping along his golden limb. “Jaime, _stop - “_

He did not.

She was almost halfway out the casement now, her weight shifting, more outside than in. She was trying to beat at his chest, claw at his eyes. He did not rebuff her attack. Merely pushed onwards, his face expressionless, that inescapable clarity driving him on. And now her feet were scraping at the ledge before falling to hang swinging outside, kicking fruitlessly at the night air.

 _She should be falling -_ the thought came from somewhere deep, deep inside himself. Why was she not falling?

His hand, of course. His golden hand. He had no way to release her.

Cersei realized it the same moment he did. Her face twisted viciously, her hands coming to wrap around the golden digits. “You can’t do it,” she breathed at him. “You _can’t_ do it - _Jaime - “_

With a single, rough gesture, Jaime tore through the bindings that locked his golden hand to his actual flesh.

Cersei almost seemed to float in the air for a moment, his golden hand clutched in her two elegant ones, her green eyes blank and shocked.

Then she was gone.

Even over the noise of the battle, Jaime heard the sound her body made when it hit the ground five stories below.

The sounds of skirmish did not immediately diminish, not all at once. But as he stood there, numb clarity still settled like a protective blanket over him, he began to hear the cries of understanding, the shrieks of ceasefire.

He made himself lean out and look over the ledge.

Cersei’s body was a vermillion heap on the stones far below, broken and still. The soldiers of the North and of Essos were beginning to surround her form, turning her face skyward for confirmation. He stared down at his sister’s corpse and felt nothing at all, save for a vast, bone-deep weariness. The numb clarity began to slowly seep away, exhaustion rising to take its place.

A noise behind him. Trancelike, he turned.

Arya Stark was leaning against a nearby column, spinning a dragonglass knife in between her fingers.

“You took her from me,” she said  passively, eyeing him blandly. “I was looking forward to being the one to do it.”

Jaime stared mutely at the young Stark woman, whose dark eyes were taking him in with faint curiosity.

“Are you going to jump after her?” She asked mildly.

He cleared his throat. His voice, when he managed to speak, was quiet. “No.”

“Good.” Arya strode forward. “I believe I have to put you under arrest now, then.”

Jaime nodded, holding out his hand and his stump. As Arya made quick work of winding a rope around his limbs, he felt himself beginning to shake.

Outside there was an immense spiderweb crackle of lightning and an enormous peal of thunder. At long last, the storm that had gathered the whole night through broke overhead.

It was over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Jaime Redemption and Team Brienne Is A Badass all the way.
> 
> Also, sorry not sorry - I always liked Daario/Dany better. And this is my story. So I get Daario/Dany. So there.
> 
> Next time: the Aftermath.
> 
> Kudos if you think HBO is keeping Nikolaj Coster-Waldau locked in a basement so he's not getting into fights about whether or not Jaime truly loves Brienne. (They are and he would.)


	6. Come Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had seen Cersei’s body, crushed and still at last on the cobblestones, seen those bright emerald eyes - eyes so alike and so alien from the ones she loved - fixated upwards, that perfect face mangled by the rictus of death.
> 
> The word had not spread round yet - soldiers and civilians alike knew that the tyrant Queen had fallen to her death, that Cersei Lannister would never threaten them more with silken threats and crates of liquid fire. But they did not know who was responsible for her final demise.
> 
> Arya had made sure Brienne did.
> 
> __________________________________________________________
> 
> The Battle for King's Landing is won. There is a cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am...so, so sorry for this.
> 
> Like, if you guys need to yell at me, I understand. Just like - read the notes at the end first before you comment attack me as I probably deserve, okay? Just go with me on this. Don't hate me too much.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: We have abandoned canon!land and are fully out to sea in the AU!ocean. Like, this ain't gonna happen. I know that. This is me kinda...figuring out the ending I would like based on what D&D have given me up to 8x04. (And trying to incorporate some of the neglected book elements as well.) And I don't *like* a lot of what D&D have given me recently, so even I am upset with myself about some of the choices I made here. But that's how the story wanted to be told in my heart. So here we are.
> 
> There will be at least one more chapter after this one - probably two, if I decide to do an epilogue (which I'm leaning towards). The next chapter is almost already written - I'll post it either late tonight (probably not) or tomorrow (more likely).
> 
> And again. I am so sorry.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to RogueBelle, my fellow sufferer in J/B angst and Dany-Is-A-Badass Champion. She knows why.

_Come hell,_

_Come hell,_

_Come hell,_

_Come hell._

 

Daenerys Targaryen was dying.

Brienne let out a broken, wordless cry of protest, tears springing to her eyes.

Daario Naharis, his dark face twisted with unimaginable grief, sat upon the Iron Throne, cradling the still, surprisingly small body of the Queen, her long silvery hair pouring out over his arm. Daenerys had a half dozen wounds across her chest and stomach, all of which were bleeding sluggishly, turning her white robes crimson. Her face was ghostly pale, and blood was on her bloodless lips.

“She kept fighting,” Daario said softly, brushing the hair out of Daenerys’s face. The Queen was gazing up at him, her amethyst eyes still bright. “She took down seven of them, all by herself. Including that spindly little worm, Qyburn. He died with her knife in his skull.”

Tyrion let out a low moan at Brienne’s side, moving swiftly forward. “My Queen - “

“My Hand.” Despite her injuries, Daenerys struggled to straighten herself, turning her head to look at Tyrion. “Is the day ours?”

“The day is yours, your Grace.” Tyrion knelt before the Iron Throne, reaching out to grasp Daenerys’s slack fingers with his own. “You rule in King’s Landing.”

“The Iron Throne is mine,” Daenerys whispered. She let out a small, wistful laugh. “I thought it would feel a bit different, to say that.” She coughed and drops of blood flew from between her lips to splatter crimson on Daario’s arms. The sellsword hushed her, pressing his lips to her cold forehead.

“My Queen,” Brienne came forward, joining Tyrion on her knees, her heart mangled.

“Ser Brienne.” The Dragon Queen - no, _the_ Queen, the only Queen - looked into Brienne’s stricken cobalt eyes, her own violet eyes anxious as the strength left her body. “Are my people safe?”

“Your people are safe, my Queen,” Brienne reassured her. “The wildfire was never lit. You did it. You saved them.”

A peaceful smile broke out over Daenerys’s whitening face. She glanced around the throne room, her gaze distant. “I would have liked to rule here,” she said softly, a little wistfully.

“You would have been the best Queen in a hundred years.” Tyrion’s voice was choked with grief.

“I like to think I was already a fairly good one,” Daenerys murmured with a weak laugh. She coughed again, her face contorting in pain. She drew her eyes one last time around the Great Hall, studying its high roofs and painted walls. Then her hands gripped into Daario’s tunic. “Daario - take me outside.”

“Outside?” The leader of the Second Suns craned his head to stare down at his dying love. “But your throne - “

“A Queen is not made by a throne,” Daenerys said softly. “A Queen is made by her people.” Her breath was becoming ragged in her throat. “I would see my people. One last time.”

Daario’s face contorted even further with agony. But he cradled her close, his warrior’s arms gentle as he carefully rose from the Iron Throne and slowly made his way down its marble steps. Brienne and Tyrion followed Daario as he made his way through the winding halls of the Red Keep, down and down, until at last they came to the great front doors and stepped out into the dawn light. The storm that had swept through in the final moments of the battle had raged for an hour before rolling swiftly on, the scents and stains of the battle in some part washed away by the torrents of cleansing rain. Now the day was breaking over King’s Landing, a soft, rosy sunrise.

The courtyard of the Red Keep was a bustle of movement that stilled as Daario brought the Queen out over the threshold into the brightening sunlight. Silence fell slowly over the scattered assembly - Daenerys’s warriors, the last of the Unsullied and the few remaining Dothraki, the depleted men of the North - horror and grief rising in their faces as the sun rose in the sky. From atop the Red Keep, where he had curled himself after the storm had passed, Drogon’s obsidian head rose to the lightening sky in a tremendous, earth-shattering roar of misery.

Daenerys lifted her head to gaze out over the remains of her army, over the men who had risked their lives to follow her, who had pledged themselves to her cause to the end, an end none of them had known but had believed in anyway. Some began to sob, low and harsh, their weary faces stricken with sorrow.

“My people…” She was gasping slightly now, her voice growing faint. “My people…” She struggled to rise further in Daario’s arms, then sank back, the effort too great for her.

Tyrion stepped forward, his cheeks soaked with tears. “Men of Westeros and Essos!” He cried aloud. “I gave you Queen Daenerys Targaryen of King’s Landing, First of Her Name, Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms!”

A roar went up from the crowd, their voices booming despite their exhaustion and anguish, a hundred shattered swords and spears lifting to the sky.

“ _Dae-ner-ys! Dae-ner-ys!”_

“Daenerys,” Brienne whispered, her voice momentarily stifled by grief. Then, as loudly as she could, her sorrow ringing out in every syllable, “ _Daenerys!”_

_“Dae-ner-ys! Dae-ner-ys!”_

And then the call was spreading beyond the walls of the Red Keep, echoing and growing down the streets of King’s Landing, rising and rising, thousands of voices joining in the triumphant, despairing cry. It rang out from the ruins of the Sept of Baelor to the Dragon Pit, from the lowest point in Flea Bottom to the riverside of Mud Gate. The people of King’s Landing - the ones who had not escaped but had somehow survived the night anyway - were adding their voices in with the soldiers’ chorus, bidding farewell to a Queen they would never know, a Queen who had given her life to save all theirs.

“ _Dae-ner-ys! Dae-ner-ys! Dae-ner-ys!”_

There was a great rush of wings, then Drogon was slowly lowering himself from his perch on the peak of the Red Keep, landing with surprising care as men backed away from his approach. Brienne looked at the living myth and would have sworn by all the stars in the sky that there was anguish in the dragon’s eyes. His colossal head drew forward towards Daenerys, a low miserable growl rumbling in the creature’s chest. Daenerys reached out a trembling hand and ran loving fingers down her child’s onyx muzzle one last time.

“My people,” she whispered, her amethyst eyes still shining bright. “My people.”

Then her eyes closed, and her hand slipped from Drogon’s scales and fell limply to her side.

And Daenerys Targaryen breathed no more.

* * *

The fallout from the battle was dull chaos.

Some of the men of the North and Essos had survived. Some had not.

Sandor Clegane’s body was taken from the city in honor, escorted back to the camp by a dozen soldiers. The survivors of the Battle of King’s Landing were to tell the story with awe for decades to come - how the Mountain had strode the walls, massive sword knocking his opponents screaming from the battlements, hacking them to bits with ruthless determination. How Sandor had emerged from the darkness with a howl of fury, stepping forth to engage his brother in single combat. How the Clegane brothers had raged on the parapets for hours, carving each other into a hundred different pieces, until Sandor’s sword buried itself in Gregor’s deadened eye and plunged out the other side of his helmet. The Mountain had fallen, and Sandor with him, the Hound baying a triumphant laugh to the sky before he sank into death.

Daario Naharis succumbed to the wounds he had received fighting alongside his Queen and love without any sort of fuss or fanfare. He simply had followed the procession of Daenerys’s body back through the streets of King’s Landing as long as he could, his footprints growing bloody on the ground, before he had finally, quietly sunk to his knees at the remains of King’s Gate and gone still, his eyes trained to the last on the face of his Queen.

Gendry, the new lord of Storm’s End, strode amongst the surviving troops, a grave but stalwart presence, guiding the men requiring aid to the healers they needed, addressing the shellshocked citizens of King’s Landing with quiet compassion. Ser Davos had set up a soup station - heaven knew where he had acquired the ingredients - and was doing as he usually did, feeding those he could. Podrick Payne had taken a nasty blow to his left thigh - he would have a dashing scar when the wound healed - and was recovering in Brienne’s tent, tended to by a hazel-eyed healer who blushed whenever he smiled her way.

The wildfire barrels still littered the streets, their black wooden husks like gravemarkers. Miraculously, despite the raging battle of both men and elements the night before, none of them had shattered or ignited, though a few lay creaking ominously on their sides. King’s Gate was a colossal heap of broken tinder and crumbling stone, the streets nearby leading into the heart of the city full of overturned carts and shattered glass. The dead of both sides littered the streets, their eyes staring upwards into the sky, unseeing as the sun traveled overhead to make its descent in the West. The people of King’s Landing were starting to wander through the rubble, beginning to clear away the debris from the city streets, giving the wildfire barrels a wide berth, but still starting the long process of healing from the cataclysm of the night before.

“The wildfire barrels must be dealt with,” Jon Snow - no, Brienne thought, her mind still reeling from the shock of the story Tyrion had told her as they had returned through the city to the Northern camp outside the walls, bearing Daenerys’s body and her mournful train with them as they went - no, _Aegon Targaryen -_ was prone on a simple cot, his armor stripped away and lying beside him. His face was scarred and bruised, his body torn in countless places, and - Brienne could hardly bring herself to look - the head of a giant crossbolt still lay buried in his stomach, a fatal chasm tearing into his muscled flesh. Though he was wrapped in bandages and the healers hovered anxiously nearby, Brienne knew that Jon knew he was fighting a losing battle this time. He had led the charge up the walls of King’s Landing, not watching at a distance as a commander but fighting alongside the men of the North as their equal, taking the brunt of the first of the lines of soldiers they encountered within. It was said he had taken down thirty men on his own at once, and fought like a wolf until Drogon had soared overhead and a scorpion had aimed its bolt high and Jon had dragged the head of the bow down and stopped the shot with his own body.

Daenerys had made it to the Red Keep because of the sacrifice of Jon Snow.

“That must be top priority.” Jon went on, his voice still strong even as he winced with the effort of speaking. “If we can evacuate those who remain to a safe place, we must do so.”

“Wildfire is a tricky business, your Grace.” At Jon’s side, Varys’s round face was contorted with despairing disbelief as he watched the last of the Targaryens dying before his eyes. “It can be dealt with, but - “

“It mustnot be _dealt with_. It must be _destroyed_.” Jon fixed the advisor with a piercing stare, something of his old command returning to his features. “No one must use it for battle, not ever again. The price of today could have been too great.”

Varys seemed to be struggling to reply. Jon ignored him and turned his head, solemn eyes searching. “Tyrion - “

“I’m here, your Grace.” Tyrion stepped forward, his eyes shadowed and sorrowful.

“See to it that the men of Essos have safe passage to go back to their homelands, if that is what they wish. Let them know they are also welcome to remain here as long as they so choose. Let them know they will always be welcome in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Tyrion bowed. “It will be done, your Grace.”

“Ser Brienne - “ Jon’s dark gaze fell on her. His skin was graying fast, Brienne saw in despair.

She came to his side, kneeling beside Jon Snow in the gathering twilight as she had beside Daenerys in the dawn. “My King - “

“Oh, _enough_ ,” Jon said wearily, raking his eyes around the tent. “Enough with the titles. I’m no King.”

Varys looked poleaxed. “You are the rightful heir to the Targaryen throne - “

“It’s Daenerys’s throne.” Jon’s voice, though growing fainter, was as steel. “It will always be her throne. I fought for her. I would have been honored to be her subject.” He shook his head, his eyes momentarily distant. “I never wanted to rule. Not in the North, and not here. I just wanted to keep her safe, to keep my family safe.” Grief clouded his vision, a swirl of complicated emotions - love and misery, rage and regret - circling on his face.

“But - “ Varys stammered.

“No.” Jon turned and fixed the advisor with a severe gaze. “Aegon Targaryen never existed. Let his name be lost to history. I am Jon Snow, of the North. Let me be buried that way.”

Varys’s face twisted. Without a word, he rose and quietly exited the tent.

“Thought he’d never leave,” Jon let out a faint chuckle. “Now - Brienne -” he lifted a pale, torn hand and laid it on Brienne’s shoulder. “I must ask you for your service one last time.”

“Anything, my lord,” Brienne said quietly, her sapphire eyes awash with bright tears.

“I would not leave my sisters and brother unprotected in the North,” Jon said softly, gazing at her with dimming eyes. “I would not leave the wolves of Winterfell without a knight by their side. You have done so much for us already - we owe you our lives, and the North owes you its liberty. I ask only now that you return to Sansa and continue to shield my family, in any way that you can.”

Brienne bowed her head low. “To the end of my life, my lord.”

“And may it be a long and happy one.” Jon Snow’s grip tightened on her for a brief moment, then his hand was slipping away. He turned his head, his darkening eyes scanning the room with a hint of desperation. “Arya - “

From the shadows, Arya Stark drew close to her brother’s side, slipping her hand into his. The usually taciturn young woman’s face was drawn in lines of anguish. Her lips trembling into a smile, she pressed a kiss to her brother’s bloodied hand.

Unable to bear any more - and knowing to give the two siblings of heart if not blood a moment of privacy - Brienne rose and exited the tent.

The night was coming on fast, the sun slowly lowering to its bed in the west. Brienne watched its descent with eyes bloodshot from exhaustion and pain. She wandered along the fringes of the camp, her steps leading her slowly past wounded and recovering men, past horses still slathered in sweat and campfires where soldiers spoke slowly in low tones, finally towards the rise above the camp where Drogon crouched on a cliff’s edge overlooking the sea.

The great dragon raised its head at Brienne’s approach, scarlet eyes fixing on her with a slow blink. Brienne hesitated some yards off, unwilling to disturb the creature, guilt twisting in her gut with the feeling she’d intruded on Drogon’s grief. But Drogon merely gazed at her for a long moment before laying his mammoth head back on the hillside, choosing to acknowledge her no more.

Brienne stood for a long time next to the dragon, staring out at the ocean and the dwindling sun.

Jon dying. Daenerys gone.

 _Was it worth it?_ Brienne wondered, staring out at the waves far below. _To lose two such souls, two such legends in a single night - was this all worth it?_

The stars were twinkling on far above her. No answer came to her. If the night sky had any comfort to offer, it was keeping it to itself.

The exhaustion of the battle was beginning to press heavily on her shoulders. She rubbed her eyes wearily, feeling the grit of the day settle over her.

And unbidden, the face of Jaime Lannister crossed her mind.

Brienne’s overburdened heart swelled in her chest.

Jaime.

She had seen Cersei’s body, crushed and still at last on the cobblestones, seen those bright emerald eyes - eyes so alike and so alien from the ones she loved - fixated upwards, that perfect face mangled by the rictus of death.

The word had not spread round yet - soldiers and civilians alike knew that the tyrant Queen had fallen to her death, that Cersei Lannister would never threaten them more with silken threats and crates of liquid fire. But they did not know who was responsible for her final demise.

Arya had made sure Brienne did.

_“It was Jaime,” she had told Brienne quietly, stopping by the Knight’s tent after Brienne had returned from bringing the true Queen’s body back from the Red Keep._

_“What?” Brienne had stared at her dully, her mind still overwhelmed by the loss of Daenerys Targaryen._

_“Jaime.” Arya had looked at her calmly, her gaze hooded and unreadable. “Jaime Lannister threw Cersei out of the tower. I watched him do it.”_

_Brienne had stared at her, stunned into speechlessness._

_“I thought you would want to know he came through, in the end.” Arya had waited a moment, but Brienne’s tongue had been struck dumb in her mouth. The young assassin had inclined her head and made to move away._

_“Arya!” Brienne had managed to choke before she was out of earshot. “Is he - did you - “ She had not been able to bring herself to utter the words, had only looked at Arya with mute appeal._

_Arya had studied her for a moment. Then, “He’s in the custody of Lord Gendry of Storm’s End,” she had replied with surprising gentleness. “I imagine there will be a trial in a few days’ time, once everything has calmed down.”_

_“But - “ Brienne had tried very hard not to let her sudden desperation show on her face, but she didn't think she had been very successful. “He lives?”_

_Arya had nodded, her eyes cool and compassionate. “He lives.”_

_Brienne had collapsed to the ground as the younger of the Stark women walked away._

Now Brienne stood on the cliffs beside King’s Landing as night drew on overhead, and ashamed as she was for her selfishness, she could not help but offer prayer after prayer of gratitude upwards to the heavens.

_He lives. Jaime Lannister yet lives._

_The Queenslayer lives._

She shivered, a chill running down her spine as the title snuck into her mind.

Would the world ever know, she wondered to herself, would the world ever hear the story of the man they owed their lives to twice, thrice, a dozen times over? To the golden knight who had laughed mockingly at them all while sacrificing his honor and his heart to rid the realm of its greatest enemies?

She had tried to gain access to Lord Gendry’s camp but had been politely but firmly rebuffed, and told that Jaime Lannister was allowed no visitors at this time save for his brother and Lord Gendry. She had very nearly considered knocking the guards blocking her way senseless into the dirt; it had taken a monumental effort to turn and leave, to walk away when she knew that only a few yards beyond the man she loved lay bound in chains once again.

_Starks, Boltons, Baratheons. How many had taken him as prisoner in his life?_

She wondered if he was mourning his sister.

She wondered if he had thought of her at all.

“Ser Brienne.”

Brienne turned.

Tyrion Lannister was making his last struggling steps up the hillside to her. The former Hand’s face seemed to have aged ten years overnight, but his eyes were somehow gently humorous. He reached to his side and unwound a flask from his belt. “Here.” He tossed it underhanded her way. “You look like you could use this.”

Brienne caught the bottle, blinking down at it. Automatically her fingers went to uncork it, then they suddenly stilled.

_...I can’t._

The thought streaked across her mind. The flask nearly dropped from her suddenly numb fingers.

She couldn’t have a drink, much as she desperately wanted one.

The spark inside her that had carried her from the frozen North down to the walls of King’s Landing and beyond suddenly flared up in her stomach, warm and sweet and _blazingly_ alive.

Her unborn child had survived the night.

 _Gods_ . Brienne ducked her head, hoping Tyrion couldn’t see the sudden sheen of dazzled tears in her eyes. She felt suddenly full of gratitude - as uncertain and unknowable as the future stretched out before them, as dark as the night they had come through, at least, _at least_ there was this. In the wake of battle and bloodshed, despite all odds, she was alive and Jaime was alive and their unborn child’s heart still beat in her womb.

Tyrion was eyeing her bemusedly. Brienne cleared her throat, throttling back her emotions. She tossed the bottle back Tyrion’s way. “I’d prefer a clear head tonight, actually. But thank you.”

Tyrion blinked at her curiously, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He uncorked the flask and took a long swig. “For my part, I don’t know that I’d ever like to be sober again.”

Brienne watched Tyrion for a long moment, considering.

She could tell him - she probably should, too. Jaime’s child would likely be a matter of some interest to his brother, she thought with faint amusement. But she found herself hesitating and so instead chose to say nothing, letting companionable silence instead fall between them. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Tyrion - she did, truly - but for some reason, the thought of sharing the secret she was carrying was just beyond her at present.

Tyrion finished another long guzzle from the flask, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “To Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow,” he said heavily, his eyes distant. “We shall not see their like again.”

“We were lucky to know them at all,” Brienne murmured. “Let alone to fight by their sides.”

“Mmm.” Tyrion was quiet for a moment, his eyes gazing past Brienne to the darkening sky beyond. “I always wondered what it would be like to live out a legend,” he said at last, conversationally, focus turning back to Brienne. “I must say, I don’t think I’d care to repeat the experience.”

Brienne could only nod her agreement. Silence fell between them again, their amiability melting slowly away into the awareness that each was thinking of the man currently bound in Gendry’s tent, the man that both of them loved.

“How is he, my lord?” Brienne asked softly at last.

Tyrion sighed. “Asleep. I stopped in to check in on him several times today - each time he was so far under I doubt a stampede of elephants could have woken him.” He saw the concern glimmer in the tall woman’s eyes and said gently, “Gendry will give him a fair trial - you can vouch for his helping the people escape through Flea Bottom, and Arya can speak to his killing of Cersei... “

“She told you?” Brienne inquired in some surprise.

“I surmised, she confirmed.” Tyrion’s mouth was grim. “I figured only a few acts would convince Arya Stark to bring Jaime Lannister alive back to camp, instead of just his severed head.” He saw Brienne blanch and went on hastily, “There’s no death sentence on him yet, Ser. And there’s no point in worrying about there being one til the trial is arranged.”

“Will that stop you?” Brienne asked quietly.

“...No,” Tyrion admitted, his fingers twitching towards his flask once more. “But then, fretting over things is one of my talents.” He held out a hand to her. “Come - Ser Davos has been saving some stew for you, you must be starved.”

Brienne’s stomach let out a rumble of agreement. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. “Thank you, my lord - I am, a bit.”

Her stomach complained loudly again, and Tyrion chuckled. “Ser Brienne - after all we’ve been through the past few days - after all the Lannisters have put _you_ through - I do believe you’ve earned the right to just called me Tyrion.”

“...Tyrion.” Brienne agreed, a smile lighting slowly on her face. “You may call me Brienne, as well.”

“I was going to drop the ‘Ser’ anyway, whether you gave me permission or not.” Tyrion winked at her, and despite herself and the long, miserable night behind them, Brienne couldn’t help but chuckle.

They began to make their way down the hill in the gathering gloom, side by side, feet leaving dark trails on the winding grass.

Behind them, there was the stirring of mighty limbs. Brienne glanced back, bemused. Drogon was rising to his feet, turning his massive head in their direction. An inquiring trill rumbled up from the dragon’s chest as he slowly paced a few steps after them.

“Is he - following us?” Brienne asked, bewilderedly turning around as the dragon’s great muzzle pushed towards them, scarlet eyes glowing like embers in the twilight.

“He’s been acting peculiar all day,” Tyrion muttered, running a hand through his shaggy hair distractedly. “Every time I come near him, he’s been eyeing me like I owe him a favor. I am accustomed to _following_ a dragon - I must say, the reversal is quite alarming.”

“Perhaps he’s mourning Daenerys?” Brienne suggested softly, her heart full of compassion as she gazed up at the monstrous form that had lumbered to within a few yards of them.

“Likely,” Tyrion’s eyes lingered on the dragon, and Brienne read deep affection alongside the ever-present wonder there. Clearing his throat, the Imp took a few steps back up the hill.

“Go on,” he urged awkwardly, flapping his hands uncertainly in Drogon’s direction. “Go...lie down. Sit. Stay. Something.”

The look Drogon sent him was nothing short of unimpressed. Brienne let out a small exhausted chuckle, despite herself.

“Sit!” Tyrion ordered again, laughter starting to bubble in his throat as Drogon continued to move forward. Only Tyrion Lannister, Brienne thought, could laugh at the approach of a creature that could literally swallow him whole without once catching of piece of him in its teeth. “Sit, you mad thing - “ Drogon’s long obsidian snout pushed forward on his serpentine neck til it hovered just above Tyrion’s head. His nostrils drew in air and expelled it in a mighty whuff, nearly knocking Tyrion backwards off his feet. “Ridiculous beast,” Tyrion grumbled, reaching out a hand to pat the scaly nose with gentle tenderness. “Why you’re bothering _me_ like this, I’ve no idea.”

“They’ve always been able to recognize the blood of their own.”

Brienne turned about, startled.

At the foot of the hill, his wheelchair illuminated from behind by the fires of the camp, Bran Stark was waiting.

“Lord Bran!” Brienne surged forward, racing to her young lord’s side.

Bran’s odd, mirrored gaze slid across her, giving Brienne the sense that he was peering under her skin and behind her eyes for a brief moment. He offered her a small, peculiar smile. “My greetings to the Hero of King’s Landing,” he said softly.

“Lord Bran - but if you’re here - Lady Sansa - “

“She’s here as well.” Bran’s eyes trailed away from her. The faintest glimmer of humanity rose from their depths, a far off hint of grief. “With Jon, and Arya. We departed from the North two days after you left.”

“Two days after I - “ Brienne repeated in shock. “What on earth possessed you, to risk traveling south all the way here? Why didn’t you just come with Podrick and I?”

“You needed to be here before,” Bran replied softly. “We needed to be here now.” She could not decipher the cryptic look he sent her way, those flat eyes sliding across her face.

“Lord Bran,” Tyrion greeted, coming to join them at the foot of the hill. “This is a pleasant surprise - “

“For you.” Bran’s face was smooth, his eyes too old in his head. “We have been meant to meet here for a long, long time, Tyrion of Casterly Rock.”

“Well, as delighted as I am to hear that, I have been meaning to have my dinner for a long, long time as well,” Tyrion said with a faint chuckle. “So perhaps we can take this little gathering towards a dining tent - not _you_ , you great lizard!” He said in exasperation as Drogon once again came towards them down the hill, the dragon’s monstrous claws digging into the dirt in heavy footsteps. “I swear, you’re worse than a puppy - “

“He’s grieving.” Bran gazed upwards towards Drogon’s obsidian head. The dragon paused, nostrils working over Bran’s scent, offering a warning snuff of disapproval and a low growl that vibrated low in his chest. “He’s much like us - he wants family nearby him, to ease his loneliness.”

“Family,” Tyrion said with a faint snort. “Well, I’m flattered that he considers us so close, but…”

“Tyrion.” And there was a strange, commanding note in Bran’s youthful voice that spoke to the ages beyond reason present in the young man’s eyes. “We need to talk alone, you and I. Now.”

Tyrion blinked at the young man in slack-jawed astonishment. “It truly cannot wait until - “

“No.” Bran’s gaze was dark. “Now. Take my wheelchair and walk me back up the hill. I would not have us overheard, though all will know the truth shortly.”

“The truth - “ Tyrion passed a bewildered hand over his brow. “What are you going on about, Bran - “

From behind them in the camp, there came suddenly a wail whose misery struck at Brienne’s already bruised heart. Drogon’s monstrous head rose swiftly into the air, and he peered at the lighted camp beyond with unfathomable crimson eyes before throwing his head back and - as he had at daybreak - adding a terrible roar to the dismal clamor rising from every tent and every campfire.

“Jon,” Brienne whispered, stricken. “Oh Jon, _no_.”

“He has passed into legend,” Bran said behind her, his voice colorless in the night.

“Bran - he’s your brother - I know not by blood, but - Sansa and Arya might be there, you should go to them - “

“There will be time for that later,” Bran said calmly. “This cannot wait.” He looked at Tyrion. “To the tops of the cliffs. This won’t take long.”

Tyrion was staring at Bran in bafflement, the new wave of desolation warring with curiosity. After a brief moment, sending one distressed glance to the glimmering lights and the cries of sorrow beyond, the Imp strode to behind Bran Stark’s chair and began to push him slowly and inexorably up the hillside.

Brienne watched them go, her brow furrowed in confusion. _That had been peculiar, even for Bran..._

Over the husky, full-throated sobs from male throats, Brienne thought she could make out Sansa’s wailing.

 _Enough_. She turned and strode back into camp, a fresh wave of anguish sweeping through her as she sought out the family she had sworn on Jon’s deathbed to watch over, the last of the Starks of Winterfell.

_It’ll all be revealed in time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> ::dodges things being thrown at her::
> 
> Hold up, wait a second, let me defend myself.
> 
> 1) I love Daenerys Targaryen. I think she is a fabulous character given a really shit treatment by bad showrunners. But the way the show has gone so far - there's no way she's ending it looking as good as I want her to and being as awesome as she is and no way (IMO) she's ending up on that throne, so in my divergence here, I wanted her to go out as spectacularly as possible, cause damn I love our Dragon Queen. 
> 
> 2) I did not like Jon Snow when I started writing this fic. He actually grew on me as I was going through it. Poor tired Jon Snow. He just wants to go North and live in a cabin with Tormund and Ghost for the rest of his days. This, too, was my attempt to give him a gentler ending than I think the show is gonna reward him with. (I may be wrong on this one, D&D have been pushing his agenda pretty hard, but I guess we'll see.) Plus, I'm a fan of this conflict being over and there being no clear ruler for the Seven Kingdoms and the survivors having to figure out where they go from here. That feels like the sort of bittersweet ending that I expect from GoT.
> 
> 3) The whole Tyrion/Bran thing.  
> ...just, like. Let me get to the next chapter. You can totally hate this choice. I get it. Like, deus ex machina plot twist out of nowhere much? But like. Bear with me. Let me talk about it next time. We can discuss. 
> 
> Next time: The Trial of Jaime Lannister.
> 
> Kudos if you really want to see Nikolaj and Gwendoline naked together on screen again.


	7. So Come To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gendry let out a sigh slowly. “All well and good for you to swear, Kingslayer - “
> 
> Damn that title, Jaime thought, hopelessly. Damn it to hell and back. 
> 
> “ - but we cannot be certain of your ignorance by your testimony alone.” Gendry’s face was almost apologetic. 
> 
> “What would it take,” Jaime was suddenly exhausted. “What would it take, to convince you I had no idea of Cersei’s plot?”  
> Gendry hesitated, uncertain of how to respond. 
> 
> “He killed her.”
> 
> \---------------------------------
> 
> The day arrives for the trial of Jaime Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a chapter I've looked forward to posting for a while. And by a while, I mean a week. I still cannot quite believe I only started writing this on Sunday. I don't know what happened to me this week. I feel like I was possessed.
> 
> Please note that the rating on this HAS been changed to Mature. If I have any younger readers out there, make good choices about what you're comfortable with, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: This is the final chapter of my mad dive out of the canon!world into the AU!blue yonder. None of this will happen on the show, but I imagined it for me and I'm pretty okay with what came out and have no hesitation to live here in my happy "I fixed it" world if D&D let me down. (Which they will.) (Of course.)
> 
> There will be an epilogue, likely posted tomorrow but maybe not until next week after 8x05 comes out because - for real, y'all - I'm *tired*. This started as a three page one-off and morphed into this fucking juggernaut before I knew which end was up. I haven't written this much in YEARS. I feel like I just ran a marathon with no training. Whew. 
> 
> Thank you all again for all your comments and kudos - part of me really wants to just go through and comment on all of your sweet thoughts and just get into never-ending conversations about what we want to have happen and what we think actually will, but I feel like if I did that I would turn into a literal hermit and never get off the internet again. So please just take my genuine appreciation here. I have really enjoyed writing this for myself, and I am so touched and thrilled that y'all seem to enjoy it too.
> 
> All right. Let's get down to these idiots in love. 
> 
> Hope you guys like.

_So come to me,_

_Come to me now,_

_Lay your arms around me._

 

Jaime Lannister spent most of the week following the Battle for King’s Landing unconscious.

Every once in a while, he felt someone shake him awake to stuff a few crumbs of bread in his mouth, or pour a stream of water in between his lips. Every once in a while, he woke himself up sobbing into the dusty pallet into which he lay, pressing his hands to his mouth to stifle the sound as best he could. But other than that, he was - blissfully - mostly oblivious to the world.

He dreamed, though. Dreamed of barrels of green fire and of bloodied streets, of the wails of men and the screams of dragons. Of his brother grinning sheepishly at him, the Targaryen crest emblazoned across his chest. Of emerald eyes, shocked and disbelieving.

Of sapphire eyes, full of bewildered pain.

And then, on the fifth morning after the end of the Battle of King’s Landing, Jaime Lannister opened his eyes willingly for the first time.

Only to find two guards in Northern armor before him.

“Up, Lannister,” One of them said gruffly, producing a key and unlocking the chains that bound Jaime’s ankles together. “Your trial begins soon.”

Jaime blinked at them, uncomprehendingly. “Trial…”

“For the betrayal of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, may her name reign in perpetuity.” The man grabbed Jaime’s wrists and hoisted him to his feet. “For conspiring with Cersei Lannister to murder the people of King’s Landing with wildfire.” The soldier paused, and looked Jaime over with a disgusted eye. “Don’t know why they’re bothering, myself. We could just as easily put a knife in you right now as go to the trouble of watching you get your head cut off in front of the Council.”

Jaime’s eyes drifted shut.

Tried for Cersei’s crimes.

Of course. Of course that was how this was going to end.

Offering no resistance, Jaime allowed himself to be dragged out of the tent and through the camp outside. The sudden brightness of the day dazzled his vision, making him wince. He squinted around him, at the sea of tents all about, at the faces peering out from behind flaps and gaping at him across campfires. It was only a short journey before Jaime found himself unceremoniously dumped on his knees in the center of a wide, cleared circle with a raised dais before him. Surrounding him on all sides, the soldiers of the North and of Essos - and, he realized with a jolt, not a few of the citizens of King’s Landing - stood silently. Dozens of pairs of unfriendly eyes were studying him coldly.

He ignored them, his gaze turning instead to the platform in front of him.

Sansa Stark’s pale blue eyes glittered at him. She sat second to his right on the platform, her dark dress and furs enveloping her even in the heat of the South. To the far right, Bran Stark sat in his wheelchair, his dark eyes fathomless in his pale face. To Sansa’s other side sat Arya, deadly little Arya, her ever-present knife at her hip, her eyes cool as she studied him. To Arya’s other side - his chair angled slightly towards her - Lord Gendry of Storm’s End sat, his hands folded in his lap before him. And finally, finishing out the party...

Something eased in Jaime’s heart at seeing his little brother’s face.

Tyrion had made it.

His brother’s mouth, while grim, twitched upwards at the corners slightly as he met Jaime’s eyes. He gave his brother a small nod.

Something was different about Tyrion, Jaime thought to himself, studying him with a distant interest. Tyrion had eschewed Lannister garments ever since he took up service in Daenerys’s cause, but his livery had been that of any other man of the north, gray and unremarkable. Now Tyrion was clad in purest black leather, so fine it gleamed in the light. On his right hand, a golden ring - a sigil of some kind stamped upon it, Jaime was too far away to see of what - encircled his second finger. His brother was sitting in his chair with ease, and there was something somehow settled and sure in the tilt of his head that Jaime had never seen there before.

A movement at the other edge of the platform. His gaze moved away from Tyrion and stilled, his focus narrowing to the only point in the world that mattered.

Ser Brienne of Tarth had emerged from behind the edge of the crowd to come to stand to the right of the platform, on Bran Stark’s right side.

Seeing her was enough to make Jaime light-headed. He felt his heart beat in his chest for the first time in days.

She had survived. Damn whatever lay ahead, whatever hours of torture, whatever inevitable death waited for him at the end of the day. Nothing else mattered at that moment.

Brienne was alive.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide and dark and savagely blue. She was staring at him with an expression of such painful yearning that he would have wept had he any tears left to spare. He wished he could have smiled at her, could have offered any comfort that would have eased the fright in those indescribable eyes. But he had none to give, and so he only drunk his fill of her, fully aware that it might be his last chance in this life to do so.

“Ser Jaime Lannister,” Gendry’s voice cut through the silence. “You are brought here today on charges of treason and attempted murder. How do you plead?”

With an effort, Jaime dragged his eyes away from Brienne’s. He stared at the group on the platform - the next lords of Westeros, he realized, that was what he was looking at, the next generation. There was no kindness in the face of any on that dais, save for Tyrion. He would find none in the crowds either, he was sure.

Save for Brienne.

 _Kingslayer again_ , he thought to himself, fighting against the desire to give into despair and weep. _Oathbreaker. They know what kind of man I am. There is no chance in hell they’ll listen to what I have to say. They’ve already decided._ Jaime closed his eyes, resolved.

_Then be the Kingslayer._

Fuck it.

“Guilty,” he said. With an effort, he pulled what he was sure was a poor imitation of his former smirk onto his face. “Get to the part where you kill me, please.” He heard Brienne choke back a cry of protest and did not dare look her way.

Tyrion’s hand smacked against his face. “Jaime, for once in your life, will you _not_ be a self-defeating idiot.” He shot Gendry an irritated glare - the young lord flushed and sent an apologetic look back. Tyrion turned his eyes to Jaime again. “You are accused of treason, yes - “

“Understandably so,” Jaime returned amiably, fighting back the small part of himself deep inside that wanted to protest, that wanted to beg for understanding.

“ - _but_ ,” Tyrion went on, giving him a pointed glare. “We have heard accounts of your actions on the night of the Battle for King’s Landing. We wish to give you a chance to explain yourself before a fair council, to understand better the choices you made.”

“Council - that’s the second time I’ve heard mention of a _council_ ,” Jaime mused, casting a mocking eye at Tyrion. “Shouldn’t be someone be leading this little charade?”

Tyrion hesitated, his gaze sliding over to the others sitting on the platform beside him.

It occurred to Jaime very suddenly - fool that he was - that there were two faces missing from that platform that should have definitely been present.

It took him another moment to put two and two together. When he did, he bowed his head, shame and sorrow threatening to swallow him whole.

“Am I to understand,” he said softly, “that Queen Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow…”

Tyrion said nothing for a long moment, his face twisting with unspoken anguish. “They gave everything they had to protect this realm and bring peace to its people. Including their lives.”

Jaime breathed out a ragged sigh. Grief - strange, muted grief, not like the wild misery that had clawed at his heart the past five days - rose in his breast. He had not particularly liked either of them, the dour Northerner and his violet-eyed Dragon Queen, but he had fought and been willing to die under Jon Snow’s orders, and it would have taken a fool to say that Daenerys Targaryen would not have made a just and passionate ruler. That was a bond deeper than mere affection.

“I am sorry to hear it,” he said finally, his voice low and gruff.

“Sorry?” From her seat, Sansa Stark leaned forward, her eyes piercing him to the core. “When you yourself betrayed their trust to return to the South to rejoin your sister, when you yourself are accused of plotting to murder their forces and indeed the entire city of King’s Landing with wildfire - ”

(At her side, Brienne's face was stricken with pain.)

Jaime felt a stirring of rage in the pit of his belly, breaking through weary, cavalier dispassion. “Accuse me of what you want in terms of treason, Lady Sansa,” he snapped, interrupting the Lady of Winterfell with a ferocious glare, “ - betrayal of Queen Daenerys, of Jon Snow, of the North and Essos and Westeros itself, say what you will. But as to my sister’s plan to burn the city - “ He shook his head. “That, I will claim no part in. That was her doing, her and Qyburn alone. I knew nothing of it til she told me, after the war had already begun.”

Sansa Stark’s eyes revealed nothing. But she was watching him closely.

“You rode to our aid, when the North was in peril from the armies of the dead.” Arya Stark was slouching back in her seat, lacing her fingers together. “You returned to King’s Landing, after serving us in the fight against the Night King’s attack.” Her eyes were unreadable, fixed on his face. “Why?”

Jaime stared at her. _Why?_ How could he begin to explain - how could he begin to unravel and unweave for this jury before him - what it meant to have Cersei Lannister’s hooks sunk into you. How could he put into words the chain that had been placed around his neck, an eternal bond between him and his damned, beautiful sister, a link she could twist and manipulate with a single word or touch of her hand. How could he make them understand that since watching Cersei plummet to her death, despite his many nightmares, he had slept more deeply than he had in years, at ease in the knowledge that there was nothing more she could do to him.

How could he begin to explain that what had drawn him North went beyond the squabbles of Houses and the clash of thrones. How could he convey that the only thing he had truly hoped for when he rode North was to lose his life fighting under Brienne of Tarth’s command.

His silence had apparently lasted too long. Tyrion cleared his throat.

“Lady Brienne,” he called. “Would you perhaps care to share what you saw of Jaime Lannister’s actions on the night of the battle?”

Jaime’s heart rose to his throat. _Did she know - had someone told her that I -_

“I would be happy to, my lord.” And Brienne stepped out from the crowd now, turning and facing the council. Her back was straight, her shoulders squared, her voice low but unwavering.

“I went to Flea Bottom,” she said, not looking back at him, “under orders from Queen Daenerys Targaryen to liberate as many of the people of the city of King’s Landing as I could. Ser Jaime found me there.” Jaime felt his heart twisting in his chest as Brienne’s voice carried clear across the crowd. “He did not betray me to his sister, nor call the guards of the city down on me. Instead, he sent the people of King’s Landing to me, giving them a chance at safety they might not have had otherwise. Without him, my lord, a great many more might have died in the city that night. Innocent lives were spared, thanks to Ser Jaime Lannister’s deeds.”

“Do you have any that can vouch for his actions?” Gendry asked, his face almost apologetic. “I do not mean to doubt you, Ser Brienne, but we are aware of your partia - “

“I can vouch for 'em.”

Startled, Jaime turned.

From the edge of the crowd, a tall man, slightly balding, his stomach bulging, had stepped forward. He looked nervous but determined as all eyes snapped to him.

“Your name?” Arya questioned.

“Ben Wyne, your ladyship.” The man bobbed his head. “I am - err, was - a smith on the Street of Steel.” His face was nervous but determined. He jerked his head in Jaime’s direction. “Jaime Lannister came through the streets telling those that would listen to get out of the city, that battle was beginning and we shouldn’t be anywhere near it.” He turned to look at Jaime, and Jaime realized bewilderedly that there was respect in this man’s eyes. “With his warning and the help of Ser Brienne, my wife and I were able to make it far outside the city before the battle began. He saved our lives.”

Jaime could only stare at the man, shocked to the core of his being. The man - Ben Wyne - hesitated before bobbing his head in Jaime’s direction. Behind him, a chorus of a dozen voices or so rose from the scattered people of the city of King’s Landing, each murmuring agreement.

“He came to my tavern - sat everyone down and made them listen - “

“He caught me in the street with my children - “

“He came to the brothels, no one ever thinks to come to us - “

One by one, the people of King’s Landing came to his defense, speaking quietly but firmly to the assembled crowds. Jaime could only rest on his knees dumbly and stare at each person as they stepped forward, the faces of those he’d protected and never thought to see again turned towards him with gratitude.

“Enough,” Gendry said at last, holding up a hand. He glanced at Arya, his brow raised.

Arya considered, then nodded. To her other side, Sansa too gave her assent in a brief incline of her head.

“In the wake of the testimony of Brienne of Tarth and of the people of King’s Landing,” Arya said, her face revealing nothing of her feelings, “we do agree that Jaime Lannister did act to protect those he could honorably, once he knew that the battle was coming.”

Jaime’s mind felt fuzzy, brimming over with too many thoughts at once. He bowed his head.

“However,” Sansa’s quiet voice cut through his distraction. “We do also know that you were with Queen Cersei as her ally until her end.” The Lady of Winterfell’s face was not condemnatory, but Jaime felt the accusation like a knife between the ribs. “If you wanted to protect King’s Landing, if you wanted to spare people from the battle, why not move against Cersei before?”

“I - “ _This was not at all going the way it was supposed to_ , Jaime thought bewilderedly. They were supposed to be sharpening an ax for his head at this point.  “I could not - I wanted to do what I could - “

“Cersei Lannister rolled barrels of wildfire into every street in the center of King’s Landing, hoping to ignite them once our troops were inside.” Sansa was studying him very closely now. “You allowed this to happen - “

 _“I didn’t know!”_ Jaime burst out, the words springing from his mouth before he could think to stifle them.

Silence. Sansa raised her brows, questioning but - somehow, he felt dimly, not accusing.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brienne’s face. She was looking at him, faith crystalline clear in those sapphire eyes.

Jaime took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Cersei only informed me of her plans for wildfire after the battle had already begun,” he said quietly, knowing with certain despair there was no way he would be believed. “I did not know of her plans to use it against Daenerys’s forces, nor against the people of King’s Landing, before that moment.” He looked up at the five of them before him. He refused to plead for understanding. Instead he said simply, “I swear it.”

He heard Brienne catch her breath.

Gendry let out a sigh slowly. “All well and good for you to swear, Kingslayer - “

 _Damn that title,_ Jaime thought, hopelessly. _Damn it to hell and back._

“ - but we cannot be certain of your ignorance by your testimony alone.” Gendry’s face was almost apologetic.

“What would it take,” Jaime was suddenly exhausted. “What would it _take,_  to convince you I had no idea of Cersei’s plot?”

Gendry hesitated, uncertain of how to respond.

“He killed her.”

Arya’s words were quiet, but they carried clear as a bell over the crowd.

Jaime felt the breath leave his body in a great shudder. He stared at the younger of the Stark girls, who was looking back at him with calm, dispassionate eyes.

“When she revealed her plan to him,” Arya went on, her voice mild but clear, ringing out to the assembly, “when she threatened those under Daenerys’s command,“ and here the young woman shot him an indecipherable look, “Jaime Lannister took Cersei Lannister by the throat and dropped her out a window of a tower, practically to the feet of our soldiers.”

Jaime felt as if he had been slammed in the stomach by a hammer. He had not known how much Arya had heard, had not honestly expected the younger Stark girl to come to his aid, despite what he knew she must have seen - what reason in the world could she have to _not_ want him dead?

Arya looked at him with dark, unreadable eyes. “I don’t know what he did before that moment. What I do know is that only one man gets credit for ending Cersei Lannister’s miserable life. And that man is Jaime Lannister.”

Silence fell over the assembly for a moment.

Jaime stared at Arya, numb shock flooding him. The young assassin stared back, one eyebrow quirked upwards.

 _She told them,_ the thought sunk into his bewildered mind. _She told them the truth._

_They know all know the truth of what I did._

Overwhelmed, he closed his eyes and shook his head, as if trying to clear away the whirlpool of emotions there.

Gendry took a heavy breath. “Be that as it may - and believe me when I say, I honor you for your actions, Ser Jaime - but while you may have acted to save the cityfolk of King’s Landing, and you may have killed Queen Daenerys’s greatest enemy, the fact does still remain that you chose to ride to Cersei’s side and return to her court to oppose us.”

Jaime nodded. Despite what Gendry was saying, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was true, it was all true - he had ridden south and abandoned the North, he had come to Cersei to be with her for the final fight, he had protected his people, and he had killed his sister. If nothing else, at least it was all _true_ about him, at least he’d leave this world knowing that the tarnish on his name had been rightfully earned, not cast upon him by politics and falsehoods.

Tyrion, however, made a noise of protest.” My lord of Storm’s End - the war might not have been _won_ , without Ser Jaime’s aid - “

“The war might not have been joined at all,” Sansa interjected quietly, “had he done the right thing and slit his sister’s throat the moment he returned to King’s Landing.” Her gaze was blank as she studied him. At her side, Brienne of Tarth’s face was a mask of misery as she stared up at her Lady.

“First Aerys Targaryen, now Cersei Lannister.” Arya looked almost appreciatively at Jaime. “You certainly don’t have the most comforting past when it comes to having you around royalty, let alone keeping you faithful to one side or another.”

“The Lannisters,” Sansa added, her pale eyes expressionless, “have not proven particularly loyal to _any_ crown or lord.”

Jaime let out a dry chuckle, despite himself. “Much as I am loathe to contradict you, Lady Stark - “ he jerked his head to the other side of the dais, “ - I’d hate for my brother to bear the weight of _my_ crimes. He is a Lannister and you could not call him anything but faithful to his Queen - ”

He trailed off, puzzled as a sudden tension thickened the air.

Tyrion let out an awkward cough. “Ahem. Actually. Ah. Funny thing about that. You see...” He paused, running a hand through his hair, and glanced appealingly at the others on the platform.

“Tyrion Lannister never existed.” Bran’s serene voice drew Jaime’s gaze his way. The young man’s eyes were clear and distant.

Jaime blinked in confusion. “I’m fairly confident that he _is_ existing, if you would look to your right - “

“The Mad King loved Joanna Lannister,” Bran went on. A jolt of shock ran through Jaime. “He pursued her and overcome her protestations with force. She conceived from that attack and gave birth to the child.” Bran’s eyes were dark holes in his face. “It claimed her life.”

The world spun madly around him.

“Targaryen,” Jaime managed to stutter, turning agitatedly back to Tyrion. “You’re a _Targaryen?”_

“Targaryen bastard, technically.” Tyrion’s face was almost apologetic. “Half Targaryen, half Lannister, illegitimate on both sides. I suppose that means I don’t really belong to either House.” He paused. “Father would have been delighted.”

Jaime shook his head, stunned. “Do you have any _proof_ \- “

Bran’s blank face quirked ever so slightly in amusement. Jaime fell silent, staring into the boy’s bottomless gaze. _The Three-Eyed Raven_. No, he supposed no further proof would be needed, not in the wake of the vast, devastating knowledge that lay behind Bran’s eyes.

“You are the last legitimate Scion of House Lannister,” Sansa said after a moment, when Jaime said nothing more. “A House of traitors and murderers, directly responsible for the death of two of the past rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, and arguably indirectly responsible for the death of its last.”

“You have betrayed the North, and you have betrayed the South.” Gendry looked at Sansa and Jaime saw his death written out in the young lord’s grim countenance. “You have betrayed every lord and lady you’ve ever been sworn to. You cannot be trusted to serve under the banner of any the Seven Houses.” He shook his head, ignoring the shocked, stammering objections that rose from Tyrion at his side.. “Perhaps it were better that the Lannister bloodline died here and now, rather than we risk you living on to betray any of us again.”

“That does seem wise,” Arya said calmly, shooting an approving glance Gendry’s way. The young man flushed faintly under her eyes. To Arya’s other side, Sansa was silent, but her gaze was on Jaime, unreadable.

Jaime felt a serenity descend upon him, even as on the platform Tyrion struggled to find words to express the despair in his eyes. “It does,” he agreed mildly. This was not a bad ending, all told, he reflected. At least he was condemned for the deeds he _had_ done, rather than the ones he hadn’t. (He would not, _could_ not look to her, he did not want to see the expression in those blue eyes -)

A movement from the side of the stage he had resolutely turned away from.

Jaime could not help it - his eyes shot over, his heart twisting in his chest.

Brienne of Tarth was striding forward into the center of the gathering, her sapphire eyes bright and indecipherable. Without a word, she came to his side, turned to face the platform, and knelt beside him.

“Ser Brienne - “ Gendry’s face was slack with astonishment. “What is the meaning of this?”

“What are you _doing_? _”_ Jaime hissed at Brienne between gritted teeth.

Brienne ignored him. Her eyes were locked on Gendry’s, sapphire depths filled with a resolve that could have moved mountains. “Then you must needs kill me as well, my lord.” Her voice, quiet and low, carried through the still air to the ears of all present.

“Ser Brienne - “ Gendry was stammering slightly, his eyes darting nervously to Arya at his side. “We are aware of your - uh - affiliation with - your - that is - ” He coughed, chagrined.

“We know you were intimate with Jaime Lannister,” Arya supplied, casting a slightly exasperated look Gendry’s way. “We aren’t going to hold you culpable for his crimes for that.”

“You said you wanted to destroy the Lannister bloodline, my lord,” Brienne insisted, her face set in determination. “If you wish to do so, you must needs kill me as well.”

“Your loyalty to him is admirable, Ser Brienne.” Gendry was desperately trying to regain his composure. “But we will not let you sentence yourself to death for loyalty alone - “

“ _My lord._ ” Brienne’s voice rang like a bell, cutting through Gendry’s words. “I say to you that I am part of the Lannister bloodline. I swear to you that I speak true.”

Somewhere deep inside him, the faintest glimmer of realization began to dawn on Jaime Lannister.

“Ser Brienne - “

“Or perhaps,” Brienne’s eyes did not leave the stage, but Jaime felt suddenly all of her attention was on him. “Perhaps, my lord, it might be more accurate to say that I am not of the Lannister bloodline - but I do carry it with me.”

Gendry’s face was still blank with incomprehension.

Jaime felt every swirling thought and emotion inside him settle into absolute stillness.

Brienne’s hands, betraying her, flitted once nervously over her stomach. She half-turned her head, and her sapphire eyes, clouded with anxiety, met his.

Any doubt he had as to her meaning he had was cast away as leaves before an oncoming storm.

“You’re - “ Tyrion stammered in shock, “ - you’re - _you’re - “_

Brienne nodded, her eyes never leaving Jaime’s face.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

“You heartless bastards.”

Jaime’s head slowly, inexorably turned so he could fix an emerald-eyed stare on the leaders on the dais, on the crowd encircling them round. A dreadful and terrible fury was rising on his face.

“You miserable excuses of men.”

“Jaime,” Brienne managed to speak his name, bewilderment flooding her face. “Jaime, what are you - “

“She was _out there_ that night.” Jaime went on, ignoring her, the rage still gathering in storm clouds on his brow. “Out in the very _streets_ of King’s Landing.” A vicious snarl ripped across his lips. “You _let her go_ into _that battle_ when she was _with child?!”_

And then Jaime Lannister was on his feet in front of her and _roaring_ at the entire gathered assembly - which, to a man, were staring back at him, shock and bafflement written on every face. Brienne gaped at him, stunned, as Jaime strode forward towards the platform, ignoring all others around him, fixing the five seated figures with blazing eyes.

“You! You - _cowards_ , _bastards_ , you let her go into _King’s Landing,_ you sent her into the lion’s mouth - you _slatterns_ and _sons of whores_ , I’ll kill each and _every_ _one_ _of you_ \- “

“Jaime,” Brienne choked out in protest, a wild laugh springing to her lips. “Jaime, calm down - “

Gendry, to his credit, looked rather poleaxed. He glanced helplessly to Arya at his side. The small, dark woman fixed Jaime with a piercing stare, her hand straying to the knife at her hip.

“I can assure you, Queenslayer,” she said calmly, “none of us knew of Ser Brienne’s...condition.” She glanced idly at Brienne, a sliver of what might have been affection in her eyes. “But she does appear to be unharmed, so I would say she managed herself on the field quite well enough.”

“That’s _not the point_ ,” Jaime snarled, glaring at the youngest Stark woman. “You let a _woman with child_ fight in your war - you let _her_ fight in your war, when she was - “

“I beg your pardon,” Brienne interjected, the urge to break into hysterical laughter a hard one to resist. “But no one _let_ me do anything - “

“ _You_ be quiet.” Jaime spun around and fixed her with a furious stare. “You stubborn, foolhardy _madwoman_ \- ”

“Jaime, you are still on trial for your life,” Brienne pointed out.

“No need.” Jaime turned back to Gendry. “I’m going to need to be put to death anyway after I stab each and every person who allowed this to happen.”

“Jaime - “

“ _Stab them_.”

“If you’re quite done making ludicrous threats.” Of all the faces on the platform, Sansa’s was the only one (apart from Bran, of course, but _of course_ Bran had known, Jaime realized through his storm of fury) whose composure was untouched. She turned her cool gaze to Gendry, who was still staring at Brienne as if she had grown another head and crowned it Queen of the Andals. “My lord, in light of this…” she coughed politely, “ _revelation -_ perhaps the sentence of death on Jaime Lannister and the entire Lannister bloodline might be mitigated? I would hate to lose my commander, and I’m sure she does not wish to lose the father of her child.”

“He _did_ just threaten to murder us all,” Arya said mildly.

Sansa’s gaze when it returned to Jaime’s was tranquill. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Or did you, my lord?” She inquired placidly.

“No,” Brienne rose to her feet, coming forward. “He didn’t, my lady - “

“Yes, I did,” Jaime gritted out between clenched teeth, staring down the Lady of Winterfell.

“Shut _up_ , you idiot,” Brienne shot at him, grabbing him by his chained wrists and yanking him back away from the platform.

“Mitigate” Gendry rubbed a bewildered hand over his strong jaw. “What do you suggest?”

“Exile.” Sansa’s eyes did not leave Jaime’s face. “Instead of death.”

“Exile where?” Gendry demanded bemusedly. “What kingdom would be willing to take him - “

“ _Tarth_ ,” Tyrion breathed, shooting a glance full of admiration and gratitude Sansa’s way.

“Tarth,” Sansa agreed. “To be placed into the care and keeping of its Knight.”

The pronouncement was so unexpected that Jaime’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him. His ire vanished as he stared up at the Lady of Winterfell, disbelief etched across his brow. Sansa, he thought wonderingly, looked almost amused.

“I -” Gendry was looking from Sansa to Arya, baffled. “Well, I - if there are no objections - “

“I have none to make,” Arya said serenely. “He’s not on my list. Brienne will keep him in line. Maybe even better than death could.”

“I do not object.” Tyrion’s face was awash with relieved tears.

Bran said nothing. He merely inclined his head.

Gendry coughed. “I mean, of course I - I would not wish to cast any aspersions on Ser Brienne - but if she takes him into her care as her prisoner - they are - she is - erm - “

“If anyone,” and Sansa raised her voice to carry her message clearly and coolly across the gathered crowds, “ - believes that the Hero of King’s Landing would not perform her duty with the honor and nobility she has always shown, to ensure that Jaime Lannister will never again be a threat to the realm, the North will take it as a personal affront and a declaration of enmity.” Her gaze was hard, and cold. “And the North remembers.”

There were not a few unhappy faces in the surrounding crowds, Jaime thought, looking around, his heart thumping madly in his chest. But no one said a word against Lady Sansa’s proclamation. A few people even raised their hands in hesitant, scattered applause.

Sansa’s eyes turned to Brienne, and deep affection welled up in their pale depths. “Ser Brienne of Tarth.”

“My Lady Sansa,” Brienne’s voice was hoarse with emotion, thick with relief and gratefulness.

“We remit Jaime Lannister into your custody. He is to be taken to Tarth within the week, where he will spend the remainder of his days.” Her gaze turned back to Jaime. “Should he ever be seen on the Westeros mainland again, he will be executed. Is that understood?”

“Completely, my lady.” Brienne’s head bowed under the weight of her gratitude.

“Ser Jaime?” Sansa studied him.

Jaime’s throat worked, his mouth dry with wild, inexpressible amazement. “Understood, my lady.”

“Good.” Lady Sansa rose, her dark robes swirling behind her. “Then I believe that the trial of Jaime Lannister has come to an end.”

* * *

They made it back to Brienne’s tent eventually.

She did not let them depart right away, keeping him within arm’s reach as the assembled throngs slowly dispersed. There were more than a few black looks sent his way as the crowds disbanded - but there were some grateful nods as well, and even a few congratulatory claps to the back.

Tyrion was still wiping relieved tears from his eyes as he strode over. Brienne had gone to Lady Sansa’s side, where the two of them along with Arya were conversing in quiet voices. “You goddamn idiot. You really must stop charging down dragons.”

“I lost my temper.” Jaime admitted, running his hand through his hair. Brienne had slid the chains off his wrists moments before, and while the skin beneath where the metal had lain was raw, Jaime rubbed at it gratefully. His mind was still reeling, still disbelieving what had just occurred. _Exiled, not executed but exiled, exiled to Tarth…_

“You most certainly did.” Tyrion turned an appreciative eye Brienne’s way. “You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but she’s full of surprises, your Knight of Tarth.”

_My Knight of Tarth._

“She is,” Jaime agreed quietly.

He could not tear his eyes from Brienne’s face.

_Mine._

Brienne’s conversation with Sansa came to an end. With a short bow to her lady, Brienne turned and came back towards them. She hesitated, glancing awkwardly between the two men.

“My congratulations, Brienne.” Tyrion’s ever-present flask was in his hand, and he raised it her way. “And may your child live a long and happy life.”

“My thanks, Tyrion,” Brienne replied softly. Her eyes met Jaime’s, and there was a hidden tension in those sapphire depths. “With your permission - it’s been a long morning, I should like to retire to my tent - and I’m sure Jaime could use some rest - “

“Of course!” Tyrion practically waggled his fingers at them. “Go, go. Rest. You’ve more than earned that.” He paused, an impish grin twisting his lips. “And of course, in your condition, you should likely be resting more - Jaime, you’ll have to see to that - “

“ _Goodbye_ , Tyrion.” Brienne blew out a breath in exasperation, taking Jaime by the elbow and beginning to lead him away. Podrick Payne followed them, hobbling slightly on his wounded leg, his face alight with barely suppressed mirth.

“Goodbye, O Hero of King’s Landing!” Tyrion’s teasing cry rang out after them as they retreated.

It was a matter of mere minutes before they were before Brienne’s unassuming tent.

“Pod - “ Brienne turned back to her squire, her eyes shadowed. “Would you give us some time alone, please?”

“Of course, Ser.” Podrick’s beaming face faltered at the solemnity on Brienne’s. “I’ll be in the infirmary - I should have my bandages changed anyway.”

“Thank you.”

As Podrick made his way away, Brienne went into the shelter. Jaime followed her, wondering at the tense expression lurking in Brienne’s eyes. She lit a few candles on the narrow table inside, then turned back and drew down the canvas flap of the tent. The small room filled with shadows, the edges to the outside and the flickering flames the only illumination.

Jaime’s eyes met Brienne’s.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

“You need a bath,” Brienne said at last, quietly.

“Damn the bath.” He moved towards her, his gaze never leaving hers, drinking her in with the desperation of a man dying of thirst in the desert. “It can wait.”

“You’ve been in chains for days, you need to tend to those scrapes - “

“ _Brienne.”_ His hand came up to clutch at her shoulder. He struggled to gather his thoughts. “You knew you were with child when you returned south, you must have known - you knew, and you came back anyway - _why,_ why did you risk - “

Brienne flushed awkwardly. “I’m still a Knight, Jaime. I had a duty to perform.”

(Oh, to hear his name, unaccompanied by _Ser,_  avoided with a _my lord_ , fall from her lips.)

“No duty is worth more than your life, you lunatic woman,” he managed to say.

Brienne hesitated, her next words as gentle as she could make them. “If we lost the war, Cersei would have come for the North. She would have found me - found us.” Her hands again passed briefly, gently over her stomach. “We would have been doomed any way. And I could be of more use down here. And I was.”

“The Hero of King’s Landing.” Jaime found his throat beginning to close, and was baffled to find the hot press of tears behind his eyes. “You damn fool - you could have been hurt, you could have _died -_ I would never have known - I could have lost you - I could have lost you _both - “_

“Jaime,” Brienne began uncertainly.

“ _She_ was pregnant, you know. Cersei.” Jaime’s focus was far away, his usually smooth voice jagged. Brienne shuddered at the agony on his face. “She was carrying what she said was my child when I came to the North. When I returned, she claimed another as the father in my stead.” He shivered, the aftermath of a lifetime’s worth of a terrible, all-consuming, virulent love in his emerald eyes. “She was - she wouldn’t stop.” He wondered at the broken words slipping from his lips but couldn’t seem to hold back the flood now that he had begun. “I came back to her - I betrayed _you_ for _her_ \- and it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. She kept taunting me - threatening me - threatening _you - “_

“Jaime…” Brienne’s brilliant blue eyes were full of compassion.

“I didn’t _want_ to kill her.” The admission tore from him with a gasp. “I didn’t _want to -_ I wanted her to surrender, I wanted her to call off her troops, I tried to get her to retreat - “ He was shivering, he realized faintly, his whole body trembling. “I couldn’t stop her any other way - she, she told me she was going to have _you_ \- I _didn’t want_ to kill her, but I couldn’t _stop_ her _-_ and she was going to _hurt_ _you - “_

And at long last, Jaime Lannister broke down.

Brienne did not hesitate for even a moment. She wrapped her arms around him and dragged his head to her shoulder as he let out an enormous, wracking sob. The cascade of tears that accompanied it soaked into her tunic. He howled out his grief into Brienne’s body, his hands clenching at her, guilt and rage and tremendous relief all tearing through him. No one else would cry for her, this was for him and him alone, his final service to the woman he had loved for so long, to the sister who would have taken the whole world down with her before she surrendered. He was Cersei Lannister’s only mourner and so he did his final duty and wept for her as no one else ever would.

Brienne said nothing. No recriminations, no disgust, no judgment. She merely held him close.

Brienne, he thought through his misery, always understood.

His hand rose from her shoulder to brush the hair back from her brow. He thought he would die if he ever stopped touching her, if he ever for a half a heartbeat was uncertain that she was alive and safe. He framed her face, bringing her close, desperation clawing its way up his spine as he babbled at her. “Never again - please, never again - swear to me, _swear_ to me you’ll never put yourself in that much peril again - swear to me you’ll never do something so god _damn dangerous_ again - “

“Jaime,” Brienne whispered, her hands coming up to rest on his, her touch gentle. “Jaime, breathe - “

He choked back another sob, emerald eyes melting into her sapphire ones. He realized, with a sudden rush of embarrassed shame, that his stump was pressing against her cheek, the mangled limb brushing against her skin. “I - I’m sorry, I didn't mean to - “ He made to withdraw his forever-wounded arm.

Brienne wrapped a hand around his severed wrist to stop his retreat. As he stared at her through the torrent still flooding down his face, she slowly raised his right limb to her lips. Her downcast eyes sparkling with tears of their own, she tenderly brushed a kiss over his ruined flesh.

The dam that he had built inside him, the wall that he had used to hole up his heart since he had turned away from her pale, betrayed face that night so many weeks ago in Winterfell, broke.

With a desperate oath, Jaime took Brienne’s face between his hand and his stump and frantically pressed his mouth to hers.

To Brienne, it was like coming home.

His lips weren’t gentle on her - they were frantic, demanding, passionately begging her to surrender to him. She succumbed with a moan of relief, her hands rising up to cup his cheeks, which were soaked with his tears. She felt the answering prick in her own eyes as his mouth traveled over her face, pressing kisses everywhere he could reach.

And then Jaime was pulling her towards the bed in the corner and his hand was scrabbling at the belts and buckles of her armor. Brienne assisted him, her hands making quick work of the intricate knots and ties, and before she knew it she was standing naked before him and his own clothes were on a pile on the floor, and Jaime was seated on her cot and staring up at her with overwhelmed reverence in his eyes.

Brienne blushed as his gaze raked up and down her form, lingering on her breasts and stomach. She was still not showing much at present, but she knew the changes were there - the rounding, the softening of flesh. Jaime drew his hand and arm carefully down her body, his touch wondering as he caressed her slowly.

“Gods,” he whispered, “gods, you’re - “ Overcome, Jaime leaned his head forward and pressed it to her faintly curving stomach, enraptured and in awe at what he knew lay within. “You’re so _warm - “_ His mouth descended further, and his fingers were moving lower and lower, and now he was tracing her inner thighs, sliding them apart. Brienne cried out as he stroked the apex between her legs, tears trickling down her face - gods, it had been so _long -_ it felt like a thousand years since she had felt him touch -

Jaime’s hands spread her even wider and then his mouth was on her pearl and he was sucking and licking at her like his life depended on it. At the same time, his fingers slid up inside her and began to tenderly stroke at her inner walls.

Brienne was overwhelmed in a matter of moments. She cried out her sudden climax, the tears that had gathered in her eyes spilling down her face. Jaime did not stop, did not let up as she sobbed through her release. He continued to move his mouth against her, his lips and tongue easing from frenzied to gentle, as she dug her fingers into his hair and wept.

Then, with infinite care, those emerald eyes never leaving her, Jaime drew her down to the bed and covered her body with his. He pressed her lips to her cheek, her forehead, her temple, as he settled himself between her legs. He pulled back to look into her eyes - sudden worry streaking through his - and sent her an unsure, inquiring look, pausing to let her refuse if she so chose.

Brienne could not speak. Her hands clutched at his shoulders. She nodded her assent.

The fear eased from Jaime’s brow. With a single thrust, he buried himself inside her.

The shocking pleasure of it tore through Brienne like a thunderbolt. Stunned with remembrance, she wrapped her legs around him as they began to rock together, his mouth again finding hers. They kissed and he moved within her and it was everything she had wanted and never thought to feel again, and Brienne sobbed into his mouth as he fucked her with a devastatingly tender desperation.

Release, staggering and sweet, was building in her again. “Jaime - “ she whispered, “Jaime - _please - “_

His movements intensified at her broken cries, his strokes becoming faster and harder, mercilessly driving her towards her peak. She dug her fingers into his golden hair and screamed out as waves of pleasure broke over her once again. Jaime snarled against her neck, his mouth against her skin, before she felt him shudder and spend himself in his own release inside her.

They lay in the sudden silence together, breaths coming in exultant pants, arms wrapped around one another.

“I thought I remembered,” Jaime said at last, his voice surprisingly conversational even as sweat beaded on their bodies, “how good we were at that together.” He turned his eyes to hers, faint mirth glimmering in them. “My memory didn’t do us justice.”

Brienne stared at him. A snort of weak laughter tore inelegantly from her. “We certainly aren’t bad at it.”

“Mmmm.” He slowly slipped out of her, curling up at her side, sliding his leg between hers. “We’ll have to experiment in every bedroom in your home at Tarth.”

Brienne froze, her sapphire eyes suddenly wary and vulnerable in her face.

“Jaime…” she said quietly, turning on her side so she could face him directly. His green eyes were curious, staring at her. “Just because you’re coming with me to Tarth - “

Jaime’s face suddenly twisted with miserable shame. “Ah - you’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed - my apologies, I did not mean to imply that you would necessarily take me into your bed - “

“I would be with you any moment you wanted me,” Brienne told him simply, her hand tracing up to cup his cheek. “But - you shouldn’t feel that you _have_ to be with me _-_ you don’t owe me anything, don’t feel that just because you’re stuck in my custody that  you have to - I don’t want you to feel you must do anything you don't want to - “ She trailed off as Jaime’s astonished and suddenly furious eyes locked with hers.

“You goddamn _wench_ ,” he breathed, rolling over to again slide her body beneath his, his hand rising to sink into her sweat-soaked hair. “You absolute fool, do you think that I wouldn’t beg on my hands and knees to be with you again?”

Brienne stared up at him, wild hope rising in her breast. Jaime glared down at her, his fingers still unceasingly gentle. “You,” he informed her fiercely, “can be so bloody _dense_ \- “

“You left the North,” she whispered, her eyes not accusatory but hesitant, the wounds of that long ago night still fresh within them. “You left me. I thought you might not want me anymore.“

“ _Not_ _want you?_ ” Jaime choked back a disbelieving laugh. “It’s you who shouldn’t want _me -_ after what I did to you - “

“Jaime, I know what I look like - and I know what I am, I’m strange and awkward and I - I know I’m not the easiest person to care for - “

“ _Goddamn you_ ,” he growled. She blinked at him, that ferocious, frightened hope still rising within her. “Goddamn you to hell and back, I thought I would go _mad_ from wanting you these past few weeks.”

“Jaime - “ she breathed, hardly daring to speak.

“I love you.” Those emerald eyes were blazing into hers. “I have loved you since you pulled me out of the shit of Harrenhal, and I will love you until my heart no longer beats in my chest and for longer than that if I have any say in it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, making sure there was no way she could look away from him (as if she could, as if her entire universe wasn’t currently sparkling in his eyes.) “You may keep me by your side or send me away, you may never touch me again, you may lock me in your lowest dungeon and keep me there the rest of my days, but I will _never_ stop loving you.” He pressed his lips to hers tenderly. “I swear it.”

Brienne stared up at him and saw the unshakeable truth in his eyes.

With a sob she raised her hands and cradled his face, gently pushing back his disheveled bangs from his forehead. “I think I would prefer to keep you with me,” she managed to murmur. “How else will I know you’re not up to any foolishness?”

His green gaze burned into her. “ _Brienne_ \- “

“I’ve loved you so long I can't even remember it when it began,” she said quietly, her azure eyes glowing in the tent’s dim light. “I want to be with you. Always. As long as you’ll have me.”

“That would be until the end of time, sweetheart.” Jaime’s gaze was transfixed on hers. “And I think it’s more a question of how long you’ll have _me._ ”

“All my days,” Brienne said softly, smiling up at him. "They're all yours."

“...Glad to know we’re in agreement, then.” Jaime choked out a faint, disbelieving laugh, his face alight with a joy he was quite sure he had never known in his entire life.

They lay in stunned silence, gazing at each other, the enormity of what had passed between them wrapping them together in quiet bliss.

“I’m going to ask you to marry me someday, you know,” Jaime informed her at last, casually.

A shocked laugh tore from Brienne’s lips. “Jaime, we just survived two wars and we still have to get you to Tarth - now is hardly the time.”

“Oh, I know,” he agreed, drawing her head to his shoulder and wrapping his arms around her. “Please, give me _some_ credit. When I _do_ ask you, it’s not going to be in some filthy tent outside the ruins of King’s Landing with an entire army just outside our walls. I intend to make you scream very loudly with pleasure after you accept me and I don’t want anyone else to overhear that.”

“ _Jaime - “_ Brienne once again choked back her mirth.

“ _Brienne_ ,” he mocked her lovingly, a teasing grin on his face. She gazed up at him and watched as that grin transformed into a smile of unsurpassable warmth. “Brienne.” And his hand came up and gently pressed against her stomach, his eyes filled with awe, and the gentle spark within her seemed to burn at his touch.

Too overcome to speak, she pressed her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking finally. These two idiots. Took them long enough.
> 
> Also I love Sansa Stark, she is a Very Crafty Woman and Secret Jaime/Brienne Wingwoman. (That LOOK she shot Brienne over the war council table in 8x04.) Tyrion and Podrick are the Obnoxiously Obvious Wingmen. Together, they fight crime. The crime of Jaime and Brienne not ending up together. Cough. Yes.
> 
> Also I totally think Arya seriously might just sit on something like she does here until the time was right to bring it up. My girl's got a good sense of timing, as the NK can attest.
> 
> Whew. Okay. If nothing else come Sunday, I got this out of me.
> 
> I love you guys. 
> 
> Kudos if you want to join my prayer circle for just one more Jaime/Brienne scene please god please showrunners please.


	8. Epilogue: This Is Why

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime smiled.
> 
> He and Tyrion were sitting on low couches on one of the many verandas of the Castle of Tarth, protected from the bright sun overhead by a silken white sheet. An ornate jug of wine sat on the table between them, and there was a breeze blowing up from the sea. Jaime closed his eyes for a moment, letting the smell of the ocean wash over him.
> 
> A year, he mused to himself quietly, staring out over the horizon.
> 
> ________________________________________________________________
> 
> Jaime Lannister reflects on his life on Tarth.
> 
> _________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This is it, y'all. The epilogue. We're wrapping this shit up.
> 
> I want to thank you all again so much for going with me on this week-long descent into AU!madness. This story smacked me upside the head and took over my entire world, but I am very glad I got it all down. (If nothing else, I'm going into 8x05 with the knowledge that I wrote an ending I could enjoy, no matter what D&D throw at us.) I wouldn't have written it all, though, without all your kind words and support - I really can't tell you how much it meant to me as I gatecrashed the Game of Thrones world last minute to throw my mad theories at the wall.
> 
> Real quick - I meant to address this last chapter and forgot, so I thought I'd share it this time. I do think the Tyrion!Targaryen plotline wouldn't really surprise me at this point, even though it's so much more a thing in the book and barely hinted at at all in the show. I don't even think it would make me mad, as deus ex machina as it is - if in the real show we get to see Tyrion ride a dragon, I'm not gonna lie, I'm going to think it's awesome as HELL. But I guess we'll have to wait and see, won't we?
> 
> Also, I didn't write it, but in my mind Arya is totally hanging out in the Stormlands banging Gendry on the regular when she's not sneaking about Westeros killing folks that need to get killt. Cause let's be honest - Westeros is fucked up, man. Somebody's always gonna need killing, and Arya Stark is more than happy to help out with that.
> 
> All right, folks. Let's end this.

_And this is why,_

_This is why,_

_We fight._

 

_One Year Later_

 

“The Warden of King’s Landing.” Jaime raised his goblet in a toast. The iron hook he had had fashioned to fit over his right arm where a golden hand had once been was on the table, untied from his limb since he had no use for it at present. “That’s quite the title to add to your list of identities.”

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” Tyrion replied, raising his own cup in return. “Warden, former Hand, Targaryen, Lannister, uncle, husband to the Queen in the North - “

“Ah yes.” Jaime smirked at his brother. “And how is lovely Sansa?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Well, the last raven I had from her. Repairs on Winterfell have been almost completed. Bran’s his usual cryptic self - he apparently doesn’t talk much to anyone, anymore.”

“Are you happy?” Jaime looked at his brother curiously.

“I am.” At Jaime’s skeptical look, Tyrion raised his hands. “Sansa has her lands and I have mine. We meet a few times a year to discuss policy and concerns between North and South. Our children will rule Westeros together someday, perhaps, uniting the North and South once and for all. I can ask no more of life.”

“They could have made you King,” Jaime pointed out.

“I would have the Throne melted down into scrap before I accepted,” Tyrion replied with a shudder. “I’m tempted to do that, anyway. Too much fuss and nonsense has been made over the damn thing, in my opinion.” He snorted. “Besides, can you imagine me sitting on it? I’d look ridiculous.”

Jaime smiled.

He and Tyrion were sitting on low couches on one of the many verandas of the Castle of Tarth, protected from the bright sun overhead by a silken white sheet. An ornate jug of wine sat on the table between them, and there was a breeze blowing up from the sea. Jaime closed his eyes for a moment, letting the smell of the ocean wash over him.

A year, he mused to himself quietly, staring out over the horizon. Almost a year since the Battle of King’s Landing. The seasons had turned, summer to fall, winter to spring, and peace had finally come to Westeros. Tyrion ruled in the Crownlands, Gendry in the Stormlands, Sansa in the North, Yara on the Iron Islands, the new Prince of Dorne - he could never remember the man’s name - over the southern land…The cycle of thrones had begun all over again. He prayed that it would be a less bloody one, this time around.

Tyrion rose with a stretch. “My ship departs soon and I need to be on it.” He sighed. “I had hoped your lady wife would join us, I wished to bid her farewell - “

“I’m here.”

Jaime turned, his face brightening. Brienne wore a silvery blue tunic and sensible boots - her armor had been carefully stowed away after her return from serving Sansa in the North some months past, after the Lady of Winterfell had finally sent her home to Tarth to give birth. In her arms she carried a carefully wrapped bundle. As Jaime watched, his eyes alight with joy, a tiny fist emerged from the blankets and waved in the air, and a soft sigh like the chirp of a bird came faintly from within the folds. Brienne’s face as she looked down into her daughter’s eyes was exhaustedly affectionate. “I’m sorry, she took forever to feed today - “

“No, no.” Tyrion rose. “I’m just glad to have seen you before I left, cousin.”

“You really must _stop_ calling me that,” Brienne said exasperatedly, coming to sit curled next to Jaime’s side. “I told you, the Targaryen blood is so far back in the line of the rulers of Tarth that it’s barely remembered - “

“Tell that to Drogon,” Tyrion told her with a twinkle in his eyes. “I swear that great beast misses you.”

“Have him fly over and visit sometime, then.” Brienne shot back.

Tyrion raised a warning finger. “Be careful, Ser - he just might.”

Jaime grinned, turning unbearably warm eyes to his wife.

Brienne smiled at him. The scars on her face from the Long Night and the Battle of Winterfell had faded to faint white streaks that would always linger on her cheeks. He had mapped each and every one of them with his lips, every night she was with him. Brienne lived her life now between the North and Tarth, still loyally serving Winterfell as Sansa’s commander while managing to rule over Tarth as well. The Lady of the North was proving to be as kind as she could in her demands of Brienne’s time as she worked to reestablish stability in her lands - she had given Brienne six months after giving birth to enjoy her time on Tarth with her new husband and newer child before requesting she return to Winterfell to serve for a season. This is how it would be now, Jaime reflected, her gaze resting tenderly on his wife’s face. Ser Brienne of Tarth, the Hero of King’s Landing, would be in demand the rest of her days.

He sometimes did wish, in the dark of night, and only to himself, that he could go with her. That he could stand at her side and serve and protect her as she traveled the lands of Westeros. That their time together wasn’t bordered on both sides by long months away from one another, that a hundred joyful reunions and painful goodbyes didn’t lie before them. But every day that passed with her was more time than he once believed that he would ever get, and that was more than enough.

Jaime reached out his arms to Brienne, his fingers greedy. “Let me hold her?”

Brienne rolled her sapphire eyes at him. “I swear, I just know you’re going to spoil her rotten once she’s grown - “

“I’m aiming to do so already. Give me.”

Laughing, Brienne did, gently transferring the precious bundle to his arms. Jaime carefully tucked a fair-haired head into the crook of his elbow, looking down at his daughter with the awe he always felt seeing her tiny form.

Joanna Lannister of Tarth opened the startlingly lovely eyes she had inherited from her mother and blinked up at him, yawning. Jaime felt a broad, silly grin stretch his lips wide and didn’t try to stop it. Brienne leaned her head in next to his to smile dreamily down at their child.

Tyrion watched the picture the three of them made together, his eyes a little wistful. Then he coughed and rose. “The tide won’t wait for me, unfortunately - I must be off.”

“When will we see you next?” Brienne asked, looking up at him.

“Not before the season’s end, I should think - I’ll send a message when I know for sure.” Tyrion bowed his head to them, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Try not to do anything too stupid before then.”

“I could say the same to you.” Jaime retorted.

“I never do anything stupid, I merely make adventurous choices with occasionally unexpected consequences.” Tyrion winked at him, then gave Brienne a salute. “Cousin.”

Brienne glared at him, chuckling despite herself. “Safe travels, Tyrion.”

Tyrion smiled at them both, then turned and departed.

In his arms, Joanna let out a tiny wail. Jaime shushed her, his emerald eyes filled with tenderness. Brienne slid a hand through the crook of his arm, enfolding it in her own, her head resting on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

The realm was safe. His daughter was in his arms. His wife was at his side.

Jaime Lannister was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends how I wish the story of Ser Jaime "My Emotional Damage Brings All The Knights To The Yard" Lannister and Ser Brienne "If I Was Any More Honorable They'd Have To Canonize Me" of Tarth would go. I know it's not gonna be anything like this tonight - if like, even one of the things I wrote about in this story actually happens, I will be delighted to the Moon and back. But at least I got to make a sandcastle in GRRM's sandbox and have a bunch of fun doing it. Can't ask for much more than that.
> 
> Thank you all again, so much, for going along on this insanity with me. I love you all.
> 
> Now, let's all go survive 8x05 together.
> 
> Kudos/comment/send me a messenger raven if you know in your heart of hearts that Jaime and Brienne are and will always be in love, and no showrunner can take that from us.


	9. A Love Letter to The Fanbase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say I love you guys.

Hello, friends.

Well, I don't know about you guys, but this has been an exhausting few weeks, hasn't it?

Here's the thing - I buy my story. This is how Game of Thrones ends for me. Just, period, end of story. This is my ending. This is my canon.

But here's the thing. I've seen  _dozens_ of astounding endings and spinoffs and wrap ups and rewrites the last few weeks. And they're _all my endings and my canon too_. All of them. We all have created such brilliance. We are all so smart and care so much and that is just so amazing to me. We love this world so much, you guys (better than certain showrunners I might mention...). And we get to play around with it and make it our own now. We get that. That's the beauty of the internet age. The official story and ending can live on and all well and good and people should enjoy that and love that for itself and itself alone, absolutely. But us? We all get to share our own sidetracks and edits to the plot. We get to change what we feel needs changing. We get to make it better for us personally - fuck the rest of the world's opinion, we get to make what we want to have happen happen. That's so beautiful. Whether you loved or hated last night's finale - I am thoroughly in one camp - the great thing that remains is us. We as a fanbase. We cared. And now we get to go fix everything we hated and relive everything we loved. We just get to. No apologies. No doubt. It's ours now. The story and what happens next is ours.

Some people have asked me if I'll write Jaime/Brienne again. I think the answer is yes. I love these two so much. I cannot describe what loving them has meant to me and how their two characters really took me from darkness into light in the last few months. But I. Uh. Also. Am starting to work on my own fiction? I got a story of a star-stricken romance and a Queen of Fire and a master assassin and two prophecy-bound twins of my own I want to tell. So maybe I might focus on that for a while, maybe I'll play back here when the moment is right. I guess we'll see?

Thank you all for being so lovely. This has been the purest group of fans I've ever known. Love you all. Remember - it's ours, now.

 

 

EDIT: ...also, yeah, it took me three days and I was writing Jaime/Brienne drabbles again. Because I love them and fuck you, that's why. 

**Author's Note:**

> Proud card-carrying member of the Jaime Lannister Is Alive Clown Club. If D&D can ignore their whole story, then so can fucking I.
> 
> Am also arrogant enough to say we all get to actually decide how the series ends. If you want joy - fucking choose joy. That’s the great thing about stories. We get to choose how they’re told.


End file.
